#peaky blinders oc

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: Tommy is desperate to fix what he's broken.

Word Count: 6,635

Warnings: Angst, violence, and sexual content.

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Chapter 10: You're My Decay

“Tommy?” Lizzie opened the door to the office with a small creak. He hadn’t responded to her knocks, and she was beginning to worry that he had fallen asleep at his desk again. He was standing with his back to her at the window, a glass of whiskey in hand. She stepped just barely across the threshold, hands clasped nervously in front of her. “Are you coming to bed?”

He didn’t respond, just continued staring outside. Not even bringing the glass to his lips. Just holding it.

It had been this way all evening. He’d stood there outside the front door, watching the car Lucy had taken until it had completely disappeared from sight. Then he had stormed into his office, closing the door with a slam that echoed throughout the entire mansion. He had not come out since, not even for dinner or to kiss the children good-night.

Lizzie approached cautiously, like she would an angry or wounded animal. Tommy made no acknowledgement of her; not even when she was standing right behind him. When she rested a hand on his shoulder, he flinched away as if her touch burned him. 

“Tommy…”

“Go to bed, Lizzie,” the order was gruff and stern. He wouldn’t look at her.

Dejected, Lizzie nodded and turned away, closing the office door softly behind her. She leaned her back against the heavy wooden door and closed her eyes. When Tommy was in this sort of mood and the children were already tucked into bed she would often seek out Lucy, who would either know just the thing to soften Tommy enough to pull him away from whatever dark abyss his mind had fallen into, or would keep her company through a game of cards or chess. 

But Lucy was gone, and it felt a bit too desperate and pathetic to seek out one of the maids to keep her company because her husband couldn’t stand to be in the same room as her. 

She had known that her rules would potentially change things, but Christ, she’d never thought Lucy would actually leave over it. 

Her brows furrowed at the feeling of distress that had settled in her chest. Of all the times she had fantasized about this moment, where Lucy was finally gone and out of their lives, she had never expected it to feel like this. The fuck was wrong with her?

This had been what she had wanted deep down all along, after all. 

Wasn’t it?

Lizzie groaned, banging her head softly on the wood behind her.  

“Fuck.” 

∗ ∗ ∗

Charlie Strong did not make her talk about what had happened, save for a brief recounting of the events leading up to her decision to move out of Arrow House. She could feel him studying her carefully from across the fire as she sat with him, Asher laying at her feet and a cup of tea in her hand.

She was grateful that he did not try to pry. It was likely that he would later. But Charlie was a smart enough man to know when someone needed to be left alone about something, and when they needed a little push. 

It didn’t take long before she excused herself to go to bed, Asher traipsing eagerly at her side while she made her way across the yard towards the building that housed the living quarters. 

She headed upstairs, briefly ducking into the washroom at the end of the hall to wash her face and brush her teeth. It was a small room with only a little sink and a toilet, but there was also a bathtub mounted against the far wall. Lucy eyed it behind her in the reflection of the mirror. They must have had it put in since she’d last stayed at the yard in 1918. Back then, all they’d had was a large metal basin that she had to fill with buckets. This tub was made of shiny white porcelain, from the looks of it. And had an actual faucet attached. 

Finishing up in the washroom, she headed into her bedroom next door. Riffling through one of her suitcases, she hesitated, then pulled out one of Tommy’s white henley’s that she’d slipped in between her own clothes. Hugging it to her chest, she lifted it to her nose, breathing in deeply the scent of his cologne, smoke, and natural musk which still clung to the fabric. 

How fucking pathetic am I? she wondered, even as she changed out of her clothes and slipped it on. Not even one full night spent away, and she already missed him almost more than she could bear. 

She briefly considered going downstairs. Picking up the phone in the kitchen and calling him. He probably wasn’t asleep yet. She could tell him that she missed him. That she wanted him to come pick her up and take her home. 

No. She shook her head sharply. She wouldn’t do that. She couldn’t. Going back to Arrow House wasn’t an option. They didn’t want her there anymore. Lizzie was probably busy popping champagne over her departure. She wondered if she and Tommy would celebrate by fucking on the floor in the sitting room. Or maybe on the couch in the drawing room. 

She wouldn’t ruin their fun. Or pop their happy little bubble. She’d done enough of that already over the past few years.   

Laying down on her side in the small, rickety bed, Lucy looked around the bedroom. The living quarters at the yard were limited, but they had this spare room and one small bed that were unoccupied. The same room and bed that she had stayed in when she first came to Birmingham, actually. 

Very little had changed about it over the years. The sparse decoration. The faded wallpaper. The little desk in the corner that she’d turned into a makeshift vanity for herself. Even the quilts on the bed were the same, albeit a little more moth eaten than they’d been before.

She turned over, wriggling uncomfortably. She’d gotten spoiled, it would seem, by her expensive beds at both Arrow House and their London apartment. It wasn’t just about the space. She was tiny enough that she could fit just about anywhere. But the mattress was lumpy, and the wooden bedframe creaked every time that she so much as twitched. And she was pretty sure that there was a spring digging into her back.

She could probably have insisted that Tommy pay for a room for her at the Midland. But she didn’t want to make herself more of a bother than she already was. 

At the thought of Tommy, a lump swelled in her throat. The bed suddenly felt very empty and cold. She drew the quilts up to her chin with a shiver and a sniffle.

A soft whine sounded, and a moment later, Asher hopped up onto the bed, slotting himself in beside her. His cold nose nudged at her, and she laughed weakly, burying her hands in his soft fur.

“Good boy, Ash.”

His tail wagged against the blankets at the praise, laying his head down and letting her bury her face in his fur.

Tears welled up in her eyes once more. It felt like her chest was being slowly ripped open, a cold hand reaching in and squeezing around her heart. 

Why did it feel as though she’d just lost Tommy forever? They’d agreed that they weren’t splitting up, and yet…

A strangled sob left her lips. She wrapped her arms around her dog's neck, hugging him tighter.

A moment later, she felt a presence, both simultaneously warm and cool, pressing against her back. A pair of slender arms wrapped around her, lips brushing against the nape of her neck. 

“Oh, my love…” Grace whispered, and held her tighter. Lucy leaned back into her,  desperate for the contact. Needing to feel as though she were still loved by someone. Even if that someone was likely just a figment of her own imagination. 

Grace brushed some of her hair back, kissing her cheek, snuggling closer to her. All the while Lucy cried, and cried, and cried. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Tommy did not sleep. 

Not really. 

He laid in the bed in Lucy’s former room, tossing and turning. Pressing his face into the sheets and pillow to inhale the lingering scent of her perfume and soap, his chest aching. No matter how much he may have wished otherwise, the space beside him remained cold. His arms empty. And behind closed eyes he saw flames dancing. Grace’s face hovering before him. A boat chugging through a canal…

Happy or sad, Tommy?

He spent hours staring up at the ceiling, hating himself. 

How could he have let this happen? He should never have let her leave. It had taken nearly all his self control not to go tearing after her as he watched the car she was in pull out of the drive and onto the road.

The most precious, important thing in his life, and he’d gone and carelessly traded it away. And for what? They were no closer to finding Linda. Arthur had taken the information that Tommy had given him, and used it to instead brutalize and nearly kill the one potential lead they had in tracking her down. And probably destroyed any sliver of a chance there had been for reconciliation between them, too.  

I may have lost Lucy. And it was all for fucking nothing. 

He swallowed hard, hands bunching in the blankets pulled halfway up his chest. With a quiet groan, he pulled himself into a sitting position, back propped up against the headboard. 

The entire room was still filled with reminders of her. The vanity in the corner where she would sit and do her makeup every morning, smiling at him through the reflection in the mirror. The book on her nightstand that she would sometimes read before bed, laughing whenever he would try to distract her by slipping his hand up her nightgown. The portraits on the wall that she had picked out.

A distinct sense of longing and sorrow washed over him. He should have gone with her. Even if she protested, he should have insisted. Wherever she went, so did he. If Lizzie wouldn’t budge on allowing exceptions in her rules in regards to Lucy, then she would have to deal with them spending less and less time at the house.

But then he wouldn’t get to see Charlie and Ruby as much…

A pained sound left his lips, throat suddenly aching for a cigarette. Reaching over to his bedside table, he grabbed up his case and flicked it open, sliding one out and swiping it across his lips. His lighter ignited with a harsh snap in the otherwise quiet of the room.

Puffing on the cigarette, he put the lighter down, hand hesitating as his eyes zeroed in on the phone he kept in the room on his nightstand.

Pulling it towards him, he lifted the receiver, shoulder scrunching up to hold it against his ear while he punched in the number for a flower delivery service. He ordered the most expensive bouquet that they offered to be sent to the yard, then thought it over and ordered a second to be sent to their office in Westminster a few hours later. 

“What do you think, Trouble? Think that’ll make Mummy any less mad at me?” he asked the cat, even though he couldn’t see her. 

Trouble had spent most of the evening wandering the halls of Arrow House, crying. Little yowls that were impressively loud for such a small creature. Tommy had tried to soothe her, but when he went to approach her, she’d hissed viciously and scratched at his arm. 

Suppose I deserved that.

She’d darted under the bed while he was getting ready to turn in for the evening and wouldn’t come out. Not even to curl up against him like she usually did. 

His question went unanswered, and he sighed, exhaling smoke into the dark of the room. 

“Yeah. Me neither.”

He finished his cigarette and climbed out of bed, getting dressed with practiced, mechanical movements. Heading downstairs, he took one look at the breakfast laid out before him, and shook his head. His appetite was even more non-existent than usual. 

He was just about to leave, coat on and briefcase in hand, when Charlie and Ruby came racing down the stairs, Lizzie right behind them. They barreled over to see him off each with a hug and a kiss. 

“Daddy, wait! Where’s Lucy?” Ruby asked, just as he was about to step out the door. Her wide eyes were looking around, seemingly genuinely deeply concerned. Tommy froze, opening his mouth to answer, then closing it. 

Behind the kids, he saw Lizzie tense, a frown forming across her face.

Didn’t think of that, did you? The children love her. Of course they were going to notice when she wasn’t here anymore.

He felt his features harden, a bitter pill of resentment making itself known in his heart.

After all, it may have been his carelessness that had helped cause this whole mess, but the idea for those rules had originated in Lizzie’s mind. Not his. 

“Ask your mother,” he said. Lizzie’s eyes widened with panic, lips parting. He couldn’t quite help shooting her a glare before stepping out the door, the children already turning to her with a barrage of questions. 

I hope you’re fucking happy. He hoped that she could read the thought in his eyes before he turned and headed for his car.  

He made good time in getting to the yard, easing the vehicle’s engine to a stop and jumping out, smoothing himself down before he began to make his way in the direction of the living quarters. 

“You’re a fucking idiot, Tom,” a voice said before he could get very far. 

Tommy turned to find Charlie sitting under a tarp, smoking and eyeing him scrutinizingly over a newspaper. He swallowed, shifting under his uncle’s gaze.

“How is she?” 

Charlie shot him a glare, flicking his cigarette butt into the mud. “How do you think?” He began to meticulously fold his newspaper. “Poor thing just got her fucking heart broken.”

Tommy stifled a flinch. “I didn’t mean for this–”

“That woman is the best thing that ever happened to you,” Charlie cut him off.

“I know.” His voice was very soft. “I’m going to fix it.”

Charlie raised an eyebrow. “Oh really?” He set the folded newspaper down on the table beside him. “And how do you plan to do that?”

“I’m…working on it.”

“Better work fast.” Charlie’s lips pursed. “She’s in the stables.”

“Thank you.” He set off in the direction of where they housed the horses. With every step, he felt his anxiousness grow. He didn't even know what he was going to say to her. Except for a desperate mantra of I’m sorry and please come home. 

When he got to the entryway of the stables, he came to a stop, standing there with his heart in his throat. 

She was bustling around, grabbing up a brush and going over to the great big black and white shire horse they were currently boarding. She was speaking Romani words in a soft voice, beginning to run the brush along the horse’s big flank. Holding out her palm, she giggled when he gobbled up the sugar cubes that she offered him, rewarding her with a snort and a swish of his long tail.

For a moment, Tommy felt like he was a young man again. Freshly returned from war, sitting with Charlie as he watched the pretty little redhead who had just recently wandered into town. Before he had brought her into his life and stolen her soul and dirtied her hands. 

But then she looked over and saw him, and the spell was broken. Her smile faded. It nearly killed him to watch the little glimmer of mirth in her eyes die because of him. 

Asher, who had been content to lay on a mound of hay and watch Lucy work, jumped up and ran over to greet him, tail wagging. Tommy reached down numbly to pat his head, eyes never leaving Lucy. 

“Hey,” he said, quietly, clearing his throat. 

“Hi,” Lucy’s voice was equally soft. Tommy took a step deeper into the stables, the smell of hay surrounding him, comforting in its familiarity. 

“How–” it felt ridiculous to ask her how she was. So he swallowed and tried again. “How did you sleep?”

She looked at him with dead eyes, dark bags swelling underneath them, and he felt like a fool for even asking. 

“Fine,” was all she said, going to put away the brush she was holding. “You?”

“Not well,” he admitted. He wanted to ask if she’d gotten the flowers that he’d sent, but after a moment’s consideration, decided against it. The air between them felt different in a way that made his heart drop. Everything was so…stiff and awkward. Worlds away from the typical comfortable, effortless way they had always been with each other.

Taking a step forward, he reached out to her, trying to bridge the growing cavern that seemed to be opening up between them before his very eyes, and she pulled away from him. 

It was done in a quick, almost unnoticeable movement. Had he not known her better, he probably wouldn't have even recognized it as a purposeful avoiding of his touch.  

He dropped his hand without comment, feeling as though he’d just been kicked in the stomach. 

“Love, listen–” he started, opening his mouth to tell her that it may have only been one night, but he already missed her more than he could handle, and please, please, sweetheart, I’m so sorry, just please come home…

“Should we get going?” she asked, wiping her hands on her trousers. Tommy blinked, taken aback at the interruption. She wouldn’t really meet his eyes. 

“Yes,” he agreed, and began to lead the way towards the car. Lucy left Asher with Charlie, then climbed into the passenger seat. Maybe they could talk on the drive to the train station.

“Right,” Lucy said, as soon as he’d slipped into the driver’s seat next to her. “I wanted to update you on some new information our people found out about Mosley and his mistresses–”

“What?” Tommy’s brows furrowed. Did she really want to talk about work right now? When they were in the middle of a crisis in their relationship? 

She looked back at him, seemingly equally puzzled. “Well, we’ve found out some new things that might be useful–”

“No, I mean…I thought that we could talk about, you know…”

He saw something waver in her eyes. Shoulders slumping, she looked away, out towards the window. Her fingers started to fiddle with her rings. “What is there really to talk about, Tommy?”

He frowned. “What do you mean?” 

She shrugged. “We agreed that we would try this for a while.”

His jaw tightened. Yet another fucking thing that he shouldn’t have said yes to. The idea of having to go more nights without her was unbearable.

“And besides,” Lucy continued, “it’s not like we really have much of an alternative, anyway.”

His eyes slammed shut at that. “We could just say fuck it. We could break Lizzie’s rules. What’s she going to do about it anyway–”

“She could divorce you.”

“Maybe that’s a price I’m willing to pay if it means you’ll come home.”

Something in Lucy’s face softened, but not enough apparently to break through her resolve. “I’m not comfortable trampling over your new agreement with her like that. Despite how much she hated it, she let us still be together because it was what we agreed on.” She glanced out the window, voice changing. Lowering. As if she were suddenly speaking more to herself than to him. “I’ve already taken more than enough from her.”

“You haven’t done anything wrong–”

“Yes, I have,” she looked back at him. “I have. Okay? It’s okay. You don’t have to defend me. Or justify it. It’s fine.”

“We had an arrangement–”

“And now you have a new one with her.” Her voice raised slightly, and she quickly pressed her lips together, raising a hand to rest on her face. “Tommy, please. I’m exhausted. Can we not talk about this right now?”

He looked at her for a long time. She did sound tired. And lost. He wanted more than anything to wrap her up in his arms and hold her tight against him until that despairing look in her eyes was gone. But the sting of her silent rejection of his touch in the stables was still sharp, and he wasn’t sure if his touch would be welcome right now. 

Maybe…if he could continue working on proving to Lizzie on his own that they needed Lucy in the house, he could get her to reconsider the rules. It might take time, but he was pretty sure he could convince her. There were plenty of practical reasons why it made sense for Lucy to live with them. And Lizzie wasn’t heartless. Once she saw how much Lucy’s absence was hurting him and the kids, she would relent. And the rules about him touching Ruby were just plain silly. He could get her to see that too.

It would take time, but he could do it. 

Maybe then, Lucy would come back home.

The idea of surviving that long without her seemed nearly impossible. But they would adjust until he fixed things with Lizzie. They’d spend more nights at the London apartment. Or the Midland when they were in Birmingham. Or maybe even here at the yard. 

With a plan beginning to take form in his mind, he felt himself relax a little. He could fix this. He wouldn’t lose her. It would all be alright, in the end. 

“Okay,” he agreed, gently. Lucy let out a breath. 

“Thank you.”

He started up the car, beginning to maneuver them out of the yard.

“Thank you for the flowers,” Lucy said after they were halfway to the train station. Tommy snuck a glance at her from the corner of his eye. 

“You’re welcome.”

“I’ll tell you about Mosley’s mistresses on the train.”

“Alright.” He let his mind wander through his mental list of things that needed to be done by the end of the day, trying to find anything that might help keep her busy enough to take her mind off of the mess he’d accidentally thrown them into. “I need you to get a message to Jimmy McCavern.”

She looked at him sharply. “The Jimmy McCavern who left landmines in our garden?”

“And who Arthur left a hand grenade for when he rescued Aberama from the Billy Boys. I wanna set up a meeting to discuss a truce.”

Lucy straightened up, clearly interested. “Alright.”

For a while, Tommy actually managed to delude himself into thinking that everything between them would be okay. 

∗ ∗ ∗

“Good grief,” Lucy sighed, when she caught sight of yet another enormous bouquet of rich red roses set on the kitchen table. Charlie and Curly both snickered from where they were standing by the counter. 

“Did he send this many flowers to Lizzie when she was staying at Arthur’s?”

She didn’t say anything, feeling Charlie’s pointed gaze on her despite keeping her head bowed. 

“Did he send any at all?” he asked, as if he hadn’t already made his point. 

Huffing Lucy picked up the ornate vase that the flowers had come in–fucking hell, how much had he spent on these?--and carried it up to her room, setting it on the desk next to the others. 

He’d sent her a fresh bouquet everyday since she’d moved out. If she wasn’t careful, her room was going to start looking like a fucking garden. 

Making sure that the vase was in a beam of sunlight and had plenty of water, she headed back downstairs. 

She frankly wasn’t sure if she should be flattered or insulted. It felt like he was trying to buy her forgiveness. Even if she was pretty certain that wasn’t how he intended it. 

She didn’t need flowers. Flowers weren’t going to fix anything. They weren’t going to make her forget that he’d chosen Lizzie over her. Or magically change Lizzie’s mind to allow them to be together at Arrow House again. Or on days when he wanted to be able to still hug his daughter. 

“He’s outside by the canal meeting with McCavern right now,” Charlie informed her. 

“Right,” she grabbed the slice of toast from the plate he offered her, jamming it into her mouth. The blackberry jam slathered across it was sweet but tart. Still chewing, she pushed open the door leading outside and went to wait for Tommy by the stables. Asher trotted at her side. 

They had agreed that he would meet with McCavern alone. She hadn’t loved the idea, but Tommy thought it would make the best impression. She’d still insisted that he let her post Isiah up on the hill with a rifle to cover him in case things went bad. 

Lighting a cigarette, she exhaled out into the chilly morning air.

Things between her and Tommy had been…awkward since she’d moved out. It had only been a few days, but the ache in her chest had not lessened. If anything, it had gotten worse. 

He’d suggested multiple times that they sleep over at the London apartment. Or get a suite at the Midland. When she’d objected to both, he’d even tried to convince her to let him sleep with her in her room at the yard. 

As if the two of them could ever possibly fit in that tiny bed. 

He had looked at her with a wounded, confused expression when she’d said no.

“You need to go spend your evenings with your children,” she had told him. Tommy had only shuffled closer. 

“They’ve been asking about you.”

She had to swallow hard around the tears rising in her throat at that.

He’d eventually relented. But she felt no sense of relief or joy at it. In fact, she was pretty sure that she felt even more awful than she did before.

Tommy’s footsteps on the muddied ground drew her from her thoughts, head rising to see him walking towards her. Asher bounded over to greet him. 

“How did it go?” she asked. 

“He agreed to a truce. I gave him my proposal for us doing business together.”

“Good.”

Tommy swallowed, eyes looking her up and down. She looked away when she noticed him focusing on the bags under her eyes that she’d desperately tried to hide with makeup. “Lucy–”

“We need to head to the Garrison, yes?”

He blinked slowly, lips turning down. Then sighed. “Yeah.”

They spent most of the morning and a good part of the afternoon holed up in the Garrison’s snug, seeing constituents. Lucy sat at Tommy’s side, taking down notes on each encounter while Tommy chatted and charmed each person that came to sit across from him. 

Most were simple complaints or requests. Nothing all that serious or noteworthy. 

Arthur came in just as they were speaking with a woman whose husband had killed her three goldfinches. 

Under other circumstances, she might’ve found the interaction mildly amusing, but she was too tired to be able to really muster up even a smile. 

Arthur seemed to sense that there was something off between them. His eyes kept darting between them nervously, mustache twitching as he tried to make sense of what was going on. Lucy frowned to herself. Was the growing distance between them really that obvious?

Under the table, Tommy’s leg moved to rest against hers. A not all uncommon action of theirs. Lucy hastily pulled her ankle away from the touch. Even though she kept her eyes focused downwards on her notebook, she could sense Tommy shoot an injured look her way.

Guilt shot through her veins, but she forced it down. They couldn’t do that sort of thing. Not around people who weren’t family or already familiar with their arrangement, at least. 

After the woman left, Arthur reported to Tommy their earnings on the football matches they’d been fixing, and Micky stuck his head in to tell them that the next in line to see them was a Chinese man that he didn’t recognize. 

They all frowned at that. The Chinese didn’t normally come to the Garrison. And after that whole business in Chinatown, it was possible that the Angels of Retribution may have sent someone after them. 

The man entered the snug slowly, greeting them each and sliding into the seat across from Tommy, placing his hat down on the table. He introduced himself as Brilliant Chang.  

What followed was much more interesting than three dead songbirds.

Chang opened their conversation with an urging of them to answer the phone ringing behind the bar. When Arthur lifted it from its cradle to rest against his ear, they were met with the distant sounds of Finn shouting.

She and Arthur moved fast, guns drawing and pointing at Chang’s head. He didn’t so much as flinch, eyes still trained entirely on Tommy, starting to explain that he’d sent a woman with a gun to Finn’s office. 

The next few moments were sharp with tension. Tommy managed the situation calmly, though Lucy could see behind his eyes a flicker of worry for his youngest brother. But Arthur was one finger twitch away from blowing Chang’s head off. 

A gunshot cracked over the telephone line, and Lucy tensed, eyes widening, breath catching in her throat. Tommy held up a hand, ordering them to hold their fire. A moment later, Finn’s breathless voice crackled out of the receiver, explaining that he was okay and that the woman had only fired into the ceiling. They all breathed out huge sighs of relief. Arthur put the phone down, Lucy keeping her gun leveled at Chang’s head while he did, just in case Chang tried anything. But he merely remained still in his seat, gaze fixed on them lazily, like a cat considering whether or not to swat at a fly. Arthur realigned his gun with Chang’s head, visibly itching to pull the trigger. 

“At ease,” Tommy commanded them. Lucy immediately lowered her weapon, though Arthur took a little more urging to follow suit. And while she relaxed a little in her seat, now that no guns were being pointed directly at anyone’s head, she kept her revolver where she could easily snatch it up again, if she needed to. 

She leaned forward curiously to inspect the golden, crystal-like powder that Chang sprinkled from a little envelope onto the table. 

Holy shit.

Her heart began to beat a little harder as Chang and Tommy started to lay the foundations for a deal to ship Chang’s seven tons of opium. An enterprise that was set to potentially make them millions of pounds. 

They barely had any warning when Finn came hurtling through the door–just the sound of his shoes running across the floor and his yelling. Tommy and Arthur launched from their seats, pinning him against the door of the snug, jerking the arm he had brandishing a gun upwards, so that the bullet he fired lodged into the ceiling rather than in Chang’s face. 

Lucy stared at the boy in exasperation, momentarily forgetting the worry that she’d only a few moments ago been feeling for him. Fucking children.

Tommy and Arthur congratulated him, perhaps a tad sarcastically, for not pissing himself during the dispute, took the gun from him, and shoved him out the door.

Lucy snorted, rolling her eyes and fishing a cigarette from her pocket.

The display from the youngest Shelby thankfully did not seem to dissuade Chang on their deal. After her left, they all sat in silence for a long moment. 

“A million fucking pounds,” Lucy murmured.

“Call Polly. Tell her we need to meet at Charlie’s yard in an hour,” Tommy told her. She nodded, pushing herself up out of her chair. Micky had taken the phone away sometime after Chang had left, and rather than ask him to bring it back, she slipped out the door to go use the one in the back. 

Just as she was closing the door behind her, she heard Arthur’s voice mumbling to Tommy.

“--the fuck is going on between you two? Why are you both being so weird?”

Tommy sighed deeply. 

Lucy swallowed roughly and pushed the door the rest of the way closed. She supposed that it had been wishful thinking to hope that the rest of the family wouldn’t soon learn of what had happened between them.

A stab of embarrassment went through her, quickening her steps towards the backroom and angling her head down. So no one would see the film of tears starting to gather in her eyes. The idea of everyone else–including those who had despised her for so long–knowing that Tommy had chosen Lizzie over her made her want to crawl into a hole and never come out.

A part of her had always worn Tommy’s favoritism of her like a badge of honor. It hadn’t been an attitude she’d intended to adopt. It just sort of happened. How could it not? It was so easy to bask in his love and affection. She supposed that she should be grateful that she got to be on the receiving end of it for as long as she did.  

And yet, after so many years of so many acting as though she weren’t as important to Tommy as she acted like she was, they’d finally been proven right.

Had she always been wrong, or was it something that had only changed recently?

She pushed through the door of the room where they kept the phone, and was thrown suddenly back into a memory of the last time she’d been there. Calling the driver while Tommy slumped drunkenly over a table in the middle of the empty pub. 

He’d been so miserable because of her. She understood that now. 

Everything that he was doing now, the flowers, the attempts to spend the night together, the little efforts at physical affection, were all just because he felt guilty. Deep down, he was probably relieved that she’d left. 

He would not have made that deal with Lizzie in the first place if he actually cared as much about her as he had always claimed to. 

An aching howl of agony opened up in her chest. Lucy shuddered against it, a small sob bubbling from her lungs. It felt like she was dying. Slowly, painfully.

Closing the door to the little office quickly behind her, she rested her face against the cool wood. Her eyes squeezed shut, tears silently sliding down her cheeks.   

∗ ∗ ∗

Lucy did not say a word while Tommy explained to Polly and Arthur the finer details of the deal proposed between them and Chang. She just stood beside him, staring numbly into the fire.

She wasn’t normally this quiet. Yes, she often didn’t say much during these types of meetings. But she was rarely silent like she was now. At the very least, she was always more animated, shooting him little looks that telegraphed exactly what she was thinking. Rolling her eyes whenever someone said something she found ridiculous. Wrinkling her nose in a truly adorable way every time someone came up with an idea she thought to be especially stupid. Smirking at him when it became clear that he’d gotten his way again.   

He used to be able to read her so easily. Now it was like a brick wall had been erected between them. 

He wasn’t even sure how she was going to vote on this issue. Normally he could always rely on her to have his back. But this time he wasn’t so sure. 

Arthur argued strongly against him on the prospect, not even being swayed by the amount of money they would stand to make. So he focused his energy on Polly instead. But he could see in her eyes that she was unconvinced as well. 

Time to bring out the big guns. 

Polly’s expression instantly changed when he promised to put Michael in charge of this business, and to reinstate his position in the company. Her dark eyes shimmered with the potential to finally end her son’s quarantine.  

Tommy decided not to mention that if things did go wrong like Arthur so feared, Michael would be the one most likely to go down for it. 

With Polly’s vote secured, he returned to trying to persuade Arthur. Not that he would need to, so long as Lucy also voted with them, but he’d rather this be a unanimous decision. But Arthur still wouldn’t budge.

Tommy looked down at his pocket watch. Shit. They were out of time. He needed to leave now if he was to catch the next train to London. 

He called for them to vote, and hoped that he’d managed to persuade at least one of them. And that Lucy wouldn’t break her pattern of voting alongside him. 

“Those in favor?”

He raised his own hand. Beside him, Lucy lifted hers as well. He let out a quiet breath of relief.

At least, when it came to the rest of the world, they were still a united front. He had not so completely fucked up with her to destroy that. 

Arthur stuffed his hands stubbornly into his pockets and looked away. Polly hesitated, and then raised her hand into the air. 

“Motion carried.” He gave his brother his marching orders, then moved to head for the exit to the yard. Lucy followed him. Behind them, he heard the loud crash of Arthur kicking over the smoldering fire that had been burning between them. He glanced over his shoulder just in time to see the orange glowing embers scatter all over the mud. 

Fuck’s sake.

At least Polly was with him. Polly would be able to calm him down. 

“You’re really going to give Michael back his position?” Lucy asked as they walked. 

“Yeah.”

“I don’t like it.” 

“We’ll still keep an eye on him. I don’t trust him. But we have no real proof that he’s up to anything, either. I can’t keep him out of the loop for much longer. Polly’s been patient and understanding, but that won’t last.”

“Okay.”

He glanced over at her, worry gnawing at the corners of his mind. Every time that she pulled away from his touch, or refused to fully meet his eyes, it felt like a knife to his heart. He’d hardly slept at all, and on the rare occasion that he did manage to drift off for a few minutes, he was struck with such horrific nightmares that he woke up gasping and openly weeping. 

As he watched her from the corner of his eyes, with her head down and hands wrapped around herself, he felt his throat constrict. 

“Are you cold?”

She looked up. “What? Oh. No, I’m fine.”

He frowned, not entirely believing her. He was half tempted to strip off his coat and wrap it around her shoulders. Fuck whoever saw. Fuck if they talked. Her wellbeing was more important. 

But then he thought of the way she pulled her leg away from his when he tried to rest his calf against hers under the table in the snug at the Garrison, and decided against it. Instead he shoved his hands into his pockets, clearing his throat awkwardly as they walked the rest of the way to the train station in silence. 

The chasm between them opened a little wider.

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[wonderlanddreamer]

Reader POV Masterlist

Main Lydia Masterlist

Edits, Drabbles & More

Multi-Chapter Fics.

Queen Of Kings - Nellie Ensor never expected to return to Small Heath, but fate had other plans. After her father's brutal murder at the hands of a ruthless gang, Nellie inherits the family business—a prize many would kill for. Torn between selling it off for safety and honouring her father's legacy, Nellie decides to stand her ground. Navigating a world steeped in danger, she finds herself entangled with the notorious Peaky Blinders. As threats loom and loyalties are tested, Nellie must find courage to protect her father's dream and carve out a place for herself in a world where survival is never guaranteed. In the heart of Birmingham, amidst the smoke and shadows, a legacy is about to be reborn.

Behind Enemy Lines - Fearless journalist Florence Fletcher is on a mission to expose the Peaky Blinders, but her relentless pursuit pits her against the dangerous and captivating John Shelby. When a greater threat looms, they must join forces, turning enemies into uneasy allies. Amidst the chaos and intrigue, sparks fly and forbidden passion ignites. Can they survive the shadows of Birmingham's underworld and find love, or will their secrets destroy them?

Blurred Lines - Florence Fletcher has always been a thorn in John Shelby's side, but when he finds her drunk and vulnerable on a night out, his protective instincts take over. As he steps in to help her, the hard edges of their contentious relationship start to blur, uncovering unexpected depths and hidden feelings.

[A modern spin-off of Behind Enemy Lines]

The Rook - Seeking refuge from his turbulent life, Tommy Shelby finds solace in The Rook, a quiet pub on Birmingham's outskirts. There, he meets Rosemary King, a barmaid whose sunny disposition offers him an unexpected sanctuary. Her kindness and warmth begin to thaw his hardened heart, creating a bond that takes the gangster by surprise. But peace is short-lived when Tommy's enemies track him to his hidden refuge, putting both The Rook and Rosemary in jeopardy. As danger looms, they must navigate the threats together, testing the strength of their growing connection. Can Tommy protect his newfound sanctuary, or will his criminal life shatter the fragile peace he's found?

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Arthur Shelby x You

Summary: It was supposed to be an entertaining evening. Boxing fights, booze and party. It wasn't supposed to be one of the worst days of your life. || Featuring Tommy Shelby x Reader

Words: 4.5k

TW: angst+++, alteration of canon events, canonical violence, depictions of slaughter and body horror, main character death, Reader's husband dying, suicidal thoughts, graphic murder. Parts in bold are direct quotes from the show. Parts in Italics are direct quotes from preceding chapters. Also, Tommy will take more space in the next chapters.

Notes:

✞ Shorter chapter because it's extremely violent and angsty. Also, I'm super rusty so I tried to write it in a more direct style so it's prolly less poetic and beautiful.

✞ This is chapter 16 of the Arthur Shelby x You series Heaven in Your Eyes. Each chapter can be read as stand-alones but reading the whole series will make the experience far more intense.

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT PART

The extraordinary general meeting of the Shelby Ladies Club.

This is what Polly called this unexpected little meeting in the bathroom right in the middle of the rigged fight happening a few rooms away. When you entered the lavatory with Ada complaining about the sparring between Goliath and Bonnie, Aunt Pol was taking a cigarette from the silver case she was holding while Lizzie was fixing her hair.

“I love your messy bun, Heaven.” Lizzie complimented when she saw your reflection in the mirror she was using.

“Thank you Liz. Ada scolded me and decided that it would be a better hairstyle for tonight.”

“You never style your hair except for braids and it’s a fucking shame considering how beautiful and long your white mane is.” The young Shelby sister insisted.

“If you say so,” You snorted, amused, “What are you doing here? Plotting and scheming? Leave these for Thomas.” You smirked, sitting on the edge of a sink with movements as nimble as a cat. Your little cutting remark had the expected effect: the three girls laughed with sincerity, somewhat amused by the beef between you and the family’s boss. They had eventually learned that nothing could ever ease the tension between the two of you, so laughing about the matter was the only thing they could do. A part of you couldn’t help but think that they wouldn’t find it that amusing anymore if they knew the unhealthy turn your mutual hatred had taken.

What did you feel when we kissed? A shiver ran down your spine as you heard Tommy’s husky voice, as charming as venomous, whispering in your ear. It might only have been a memory, but you could almost feel his hot whisky breath brushing your skin.

“Heaven has some news.” Polly’s voice resounded in the bathroom, snatching you from your thoughts.

“Me?” You asked, batting your bambi lashes in incomprehension before the understanding of the situation slapped you right in the face.

“Well, tell her. Now! While the men are screaming for blood.”  Polly sneaked a cigarette between her thin, red lips. 

Your blood momentarily froze in your pale veins for this unexpected pregnancy wasn’t something you wanted to talk about. For sure Aunt Pol didn’t mean to do harm, but the surrounding chaos and your last encounter with Luca Changretta seriously eroded your wish to have a baby. The baby who made you so vulnerable during times that were anything but good. Moreover, a quick glance at Lizzie’s sad and anxious eyes had been enough for you to understand that something was weighing on her shoulders. Something you had guessed for a few days. Something she needed to talk about more than you. The corner of your mouth turned up in a half-smile.

“Well, I discovered something about Lizzie but I think she should be the one making the announcement. Shouldn’t you, Lizzie?” You winked, replacing one of your long white strands of hair behind your pierced ear with a naive pout. Glitters of hope and gratefulness suddenly sparkled in the ocean blue of the secretary’s eyes to whom you replied with a discreet nod before grabbing Polly’s cigarette case.

“I’m up the duff. And it’s Tommy’s.”

You took a long drag on the cigarette and slowly exhaled the smoke by your nostrils as the attention was now on Lizzie. Even though Ada almost choked on her sip of gin, she quickly showed interest in the tall woman’s pregnancy. The only one you didn’t fool was old and cunning Aunt Pol who gave you a brief “okay I get it” glance before turning back to Lizzie.

It’s a girl. Call her Ruby. Ruby Shelby. She’ll be a star in a Hollywood movie.

You watched the scene with a light smile floating upon your plump and glossy lips, satisfied by the outcome of your little trick as well as the surprising unconditional support Lizzie was receiving after years of being seen only through her job as a prostitute. Admittedly, the reason behind the little push you gave to Lizzie Stark was purely selfish, but you couldn’t deny the fact that you kind of liked the woman despite never really interacting with her. She got the attention, and you got peace. It was a win-win situation.

“Congratulations, Lizzie.” You said, your siren-like voice as soft as a lazy ocean.

“She’s a real Shelby lady now. Just like you, Devil.”  Polly’s smirk betrayed her amusement. You rolled your eyes teasingly before proudly showing your left hand and wiggling your small fingers to display the magnificent wedding ring Arthur had gifted you.

“What about you Hev? When are you planning to give us a little Arthur?” Ada suddenly asked, Lizzie's news had visibly rendered her sour mood better.

“I think one Arthur is enough for now, don’t you?” You got up from the sink and carefully smoothed the folds your revealing black dress, “Anyway. Ladies, let’s rejoin our gentlemen.”

“I guess the meeting is over.” Ada added with a little chuckle

Joining deeds to words, Polly gently hooked her arm with yours in a motherly gesture and guided you outside, where the crowd’s roars were echoing.

Laughs and cheers filled the room as Johnny Dog put on a show to get more men to bet on the winner of this fight. Swallowing a mouthful of gin, your seraphic traits turned into a wince at the burning sensation the alcohol left in your throat – that new batch was strong, indeed. The sweet taste that exploded on your tastebuds, when the tip of your rosy tongue licked your juicy lips, made you grin, or maybe it was the all-consuming smell of sweat and blood that lingered in the air. It might come off as surprising for other women, but you enjoyed watching fights. There was something brutal but so real about them. After all, humans were just animals wearing suits. Animals which, according to you, had barely learned to speak instead of growling.

Your lips pinched the cigarette as you took another drag you quickly blew, your eyes following blood spurting from Bonnie’s nose and splattering the ground. Although quieter than Polly, Lizzie, and Ada, who were laughing, screaming, and sometimes nudging you in excitement at each violent blow the Romani boy gave back to his opponent, you had a lot of fun. Until a peculiar but familiar feeling blossomed within.

It started with a chill creeping down your spine and ended up with light tremors shaking your frail silhouette. Instinctively, you raised your piercing gaze and searched for Arthur somewhere among the crowded rows of folded seats. Your usual calm demeanor faltered as you noticed that your husband seemed troubled by something, rapidly glancing from here and there, attempting to read the room for whatever reason. He didn’t even pay attention to you, far too busy observing the men that were around the boxing ring. Eventually, Arthur stood up and left, his steel blue eyes fixed on someone he followed through the depths of the building. Let me do my fucking job! That’s what he barked at Tommy, or at least what you thought you overheard.

You frowned as a strange sensation rippled through your mind – like a distant, haunting whisper of something looming, a threat. Nervously swallowing your saliva, your first reflex was looking at Tommy. You couldn’t place it, but the odd feeling gripped you tightly like an omen you couldn’t shake, warning you of an approaching storm. It seemed like little King Shelby shared your inner agitation though, for his mesmerizing turquoise eyes dived into yours with the same nervousness and incomprehension. Whatever the many reasons behind your hatred, you were definitely on the same wavelength at this very moment. The silent conversation, expressed through brief eyebrows and eye movements, was more or less the following:

-Where is he going?

-I don’t know. It’s prolly the booze and the pills.

-It’s not. I’ll check.

-Don’t fucking do that.

You stood up from your seat with a clenched jaw and, feeling the vibration of this bad omen quaking your soul itself, you nimbly snaked in and out through seats and followed Arthur’s steps. As was the case for your husband a few minutes ago, the dark corridor into which you rushed engulfed your ethereal silhouette like a hungry giant.

“Fuck.” Tommy mumbled, straightening on his seat and leaning forward, “Fuck.” He repeated, torn between his own doubts and his disdain for you. Nevertheless, if there was one thing he had learned since you joined the family was that your gut feelings were never wrong. You proved it several times, starting by foreseeing Charlie’s abduction. The dark-haired gangster sniffed and nervously rubbed his chin, his catlike eyes going back on forth between the corridor and the crowd. A few minutes later, Tommy finally left the fighting pit.

Something was definitely off.

Cautiously walking through the maze of dark hallways dimly lit by a bluish light, you tried to ignore the maddening beat of your heart that was drumming so loud you felt it hammering in your temples. You didn’t really know where you were heading, nor where Arthur went, but the more you moved forward, the more this unbearable feeling of dread and panic invaded you. Your aimless wandering came to an end when the strong and metallic smell of fresh blood and the atrocious sight that followed jumped at your face.

No.

Your heart nearly stopped when you saw him – your husband, slumped on the ground, blood soaking through the collar of his shirt as it gushed from the wound across his throat.

No!

Time seemed to slow down, and your heart seemed to stop as you took in the scene: the gun the Italian bastard was holding in his steady hand aimed at Arthur’s head.

Panic crashed over you like a tidal wave, washing away everything but the rage that had piled up within you during all these years. In that moment, something primal and destructive snapped inside of you. In a blur of rage and raw instinct, and with a guttural scream that seemed too inhumane to come from you, you launched yourself at the mafioso, who barely had the time to turn around. Another furious shriek escaped from your quivering lips, similar to the rabid screech of a wounded banshee, and with your fingers curled into claws, your sharp nails slashed across his face.  

“PUTTANA!” The man yelled and gasped, taken aback by your unleashed fury.

The mafioso fired with his gun in a desperate attempt to kill you but the brutal impact between your two bodies threw him off balance and the shot reached the wall instead of your brain. As his spine crashed against the tiled ground, Changretta’s henchman dropped the weapon. You gave it a brutal blow to make it slide away from him.

Another wave of insults followed as he realized that he struggled to overpower you. You were fighting like a cornered animal, wild and relentless. Your claws scratched him again and again, leaving raw and jagged lines of blood all over his face. The mafioso's strength was starting to falter as he realized that you weren’t just fighting to win; you were fighting to kill him, your body moved by the instinct of a bloodthirsty beast that refused to be caged.

"Stop it, you fucking bitch!" A scream of utter pain brutally tore the air as, completely out of your mind, you dug your thumbs into his skull, pushing harder and harder in an attempt to gouge his eyes. The Sicilian man produced a second sound so twisted that it seemed beyond anything a human throat could produce. The more you pushed with your thumbs, the more you felt his eyeball turning into a viscous pulp. The feeling of the moist and warm liquid on your fingers didn’t stop you. Nor the man’s wails of pure agony, with its pitch far too high and too broken.

“Ajùtami! Ajùtami!” He pleaded, his hands felt the ground in panic, searching for anything he could use to push you away from him. Anything to make you stop. Realizing that nothing was around him, not even the thread he used to attack Arthur, he managed to overcome the pain and gather his strength to grab your throat.

With your air squeezed, you wheezed and removed your fingers from his skull to claw his strong hands. “S-Stop!” Panic flooded you as your vision blurred, black spots dancing at the edges. The harder you fought, the harder he strangled you. Seriously lacking air, you clawed at his arms, desperate to breathe, but his grip was iron. Now you had to do something and do it quickly if you wanted to have a chance to save Arthur.

Your thoughts raced, frantic, until instinct took over.

I love your messy bun, Hev!

The judas stick – now you had a chance. With one quick movement, you brought your hand to your bun and your fingers fumbled for the sharp metal judas stick that was holding your hair in place. It came in handy. With a choked sound, you drove it upward and sunk the sharp edge of the stick into the man’s side.

One time.

Two times.

Three, four, five, six…

Side, chest, shoulder, face… 

Each impact was vicious and powerful, tearing through the flesh like butter and drilling into organs and bones with the sheer will of maiming your enemy. Hot blood splashed all over you and around, but you didn’t care. The only thing that made you stop stabbing him was when you felt the man’s grip loosen around your throat until his arms dropped on the red-smeared ground in a loud thud.

“Fuck!” You sucked in a sharp breath, your voice hoarse from being choked. However, you quickly got up from the corpse to run to your husband.  “Arthur!” You screamed, rushing to his side, your hands trembling as you knelt beside him – or rather as you dropped to your knees, your legs unable to support your weight anymore. Panic seized you even more violently as you saw Arthur's deep wound and the blood—too much blood.

“No, no, no… not like this,” You whispered, voice cracking. You couldn’t lose him, not here, not now. Never. Your fingers brushed over his chest and, in your deepest desperation, you looked for his pulse. A pulse you found, but which was becoming slower and fainter as seconds flew by. “Arthur! Please!” You started sobbing, tears streaming down your face and mixing with the fresh blood that was painting your skin in a disgusting shade of red. You had to face the truth: Arthur was dying. The damages were too serious and the bleeding too much… But you were a witch. The gift of healing was coursing through your veins. The only problem was that if you tried to save him by using your magic, you’d hurt the baby. After all, that was what happened when you tried to kill Luca Changretta with a heart attack.

The baby.

Your husband or the baby?

Your heart painfully raced in your chest. Your erratic breathing and your sore throat made you feel like you weren’t getting enough air.

 “I’d love to have kids with ye, eh. Little white-haired and blue-eyed us running barefoot in the forest… Little embodiments of our love brightening our life.” His voice was merely a whisper now for he was slowly falling asleep, “I’ve always wanted to be a dad… but thought I was too messed up for that.”

You could save him. You had to. Despite this torture of a dilemma and the harshness of the decision, nothing could change your mind, not even the feeling of your heart shattering into millions of shards. Closing your eyes, you placed one hand over his throat, the blood warm under your palm, and the other on his chest. Wasting no time, you channel all your strength – the connection sparked, and the raw, untamed magic you inherited from your mother surged through you. It seemed to work at first, his pulse lightly responding to yours.

But the more the magic surged, the more you felt a terrible pain in your belly. It started as cramps but quickly escalated into suffering so high that you felt like someone was stabbing you. A trembling squeal escaped from your red lips. You were killing it, you knew it. You were killing your own baby.

"Come on, come on," You muttered, pushing harder, forcing your will into his body. "Stay with me, Arthur," You whispered, tears streaking down your face, each sentence cut by muffled cries of the mafioso you had slaughtered and who was still alive— not for too long to be honest. He seemed to say something in Sicilian but you couldn't understand what. And you didn't care. "Just... stay with me." You gritted your teeth, doing your best to put up with the pain.

Click.

You froze.

“You nosey little slut. You should've stayed with the others.” 

Your heart missed a leap at the unknown male voice, carried by a thick Italian accent. The mafioso’s colleague looked at you, gun pointed right to your head.

"Remember me?" He asked with a wicked smile, recalling the moment he had offered you a cigarette a few hours ago. During your brief chit-chat, he told you that his name was Damiano but you didn't make the connection between Changretta and his Italian heritage.

“Don't cry, you're going to meet with your husband again very soon." the imposing man added, a few seconds away from ending your life. However, Damiano didn't know what you were capable of. Even less now that you were driven by pure rage and despair.

“Shut the fuck up!” You suddenly yelled, your claws firmly anchored in your husband to make Damiano understand that no one would snatch him from your arms. Your voice, a seductive melody that could enchant like a siren’s song, suddenly sounded monstrous. Raw and primal, the way you screamed the threat echoed in the entire maze of hallways and made Tommy’s blood freeze in his veins, a few corridors away. “Fucking die!”

Damiano didn't know that he never stood a chance. You sealed that man's demise with one blunt arm movement as if you had wanted to chase a mosquito from your face.  

"Wh-What..."

Damiano, fell on his knees next to his dying friend, and writhed on the floor. With his two hands pressing on his chest, he suddenly started to choke and, right after, threw up a great amount of thick blood. Apart from the vomiting, blood soon seeped from his eyes and ears, bubbling like something inside was boiling them alive.

"P-Please!" He begged but you didn't stop. The man obviously tried to scream but the only sound he could produce was disgusting gurgles.

"Don't worry, you're going to meet your friend pretty soon." You replied with a cold and sardonic tone before closing your fist, the man's lungs responding to your gesture by imploding in his chest. Like his colleague's arms did a few minutes ago, Damiano's whole body crashed against the floor with a thud.

Quickly, you shifted back your attention to your husband and kept giving him all your energy while ignoring the black dots that were dancing in front of your eyes, as well as the awful, unbearable stabbing sensation in your core. You were definitely hurting yourself by using your power that much but you didn't give a fuck. “Arthur, please.” You growled, a feeling of dizziness building up so bad that you didn’t even hear the hurried footsteps that were coming closer, nor the hoarse, familiar voice of your brother-in-law.

"FUCK!" You exclaimed. You were losing Arthur again.

The three bodies lay strewn like discarded puppets, their lifeless forms twisted and broken on the blood-flown concrete floor. The once clean backroom had transformed into a nightmare realm of gore and horror that made Tommy's stomach turn upside-down.

The Peaky Blinder's boss took two steps back and brought his calloused hand to his mouth, fighting against the urge to puke – and God knew it took him a lot considering the atrocities he witnessed and did during the war. His turquoise gaze scanned the room, which had turned into a slaughterhouse. A fucking pool of crimson blood. First, he saw the limp and distorted corpse of Damiano, whose eyes were open wide in horror despite him being dead and cold. The terror in his frozen facial expression left no doubt about how awful his last moments must have been: he had suffered, and he had suffered more than a lot. Then, he caught a quick glimpse of the second victim. With his eyeballs reduced to a reddish foul mush, the lacerations on his face, and the abnormal number of stabbing wounds, the mafioso’s body was so maimed that it looked disgustingly grotesque.

Then he saw Arthur.

"Oh my God. Oh my fucking God — Arthur!"

Amidst the chaos, where the air hung heavy with the acrid and pungent scent of blood, Tommy's screams echoed far away in the distance as you knelt there, eyes wide open and silent tears streaming down your cheeks, mixed with dark trails of ruined mascara.

Tommy reacted immediately and knelt near his brother with a panic so uncontrollable that it swept away every ounce of coldness and self-control he usually displayed. He slapped his brother's cheeks several times in a vain attempt to help him come back to a conscious state but it didn't work. Thomas Shelby's fist hit the floor with frustration as the feeling of powerlessness crept into his heart. He was losing another brother and there was nothing he could do to save him.

But you could.

"Heaven, d'ya hear me?"

You let out a muffled whimper, or at least you thought you did as your senses saturated with one unique sound: a relentless ringing that echoed in the hollow caverns of your mind. With each pulse of your heart, the sound intensified, threatening to consume the last remnant of sanity you had left. The world around you had seemed to fade into obscurity, your sight blurry and reduced to only one color: red. Vibrant red splattered everywhere, on the walls, and yourself but most of it was on the floor. In fact, the ground itself seemed to writhe beneath the weight of the corpses, as crimson rivers flowed freely, painting the concrete in shades of crimson that gleamed like freshly spilled paint.

“Oi! Listen to me!” Tommy’s powerful voice suddenly snatched you from your daze just enough time to catch your attention and plunge his turquoise iris into your Arctic eyes.

“I—I can’t. I can’t, I can’t...” You repeated in a whisper, just like a broken record, because your husband’s pulse was weakening again, blind to your exhausting and painful efforts. Arthur was dying, your baby was dying and the intensity of the pain you went through was so insufferable that all you wanted to do was curl up in a ball and wait for death to make this nightmare stop.

Tommy rapidly shifted his body to be by your side, his sharp eyes focused, but softer than usual. “You’ve got this,” he whispered, meeting your panicked gaze. “Keep going. Don’t stop.” He pressed his hand firmly over yours, steadying the trembling fingers that worked to save his brother. His voice was low, gravelly, but laced with a quiet strength he tried to share with you. His grip was warm, grounding you in the chaos, his presence like an anchor. At that moment, the weight of the world felt momentarily lighter with him by your side. You replied to his help with a muffled sob.

"You've got this!" Tommy tried to keep you from falling apart but the sight of a thin trickle of blood slowly running down your nose worried him almost to death. He looked at you and he knew. He knew that you had given everything – every ounce of your energy to save his brother, your magic now drained. Your hand trembled, still pressed to Arthur’s chest, but the world around you was seriously fading to black.

Caught amid this Hell with Tommy by your side, you didn't hear nor feel Polly, who had found the crime scene.

"Oh lord please help us, oh Lord, oh Lord..." Polly cried, horrified by the bloodbath as well as by the sight of you clinging to Arthur's limp body. She had already lost one of her nephews and couldn't bear the weight of losing another one. Not her sweet Arthur. Not him,

"We're fucking losing her too!" Tommy exclaimed, "fucking help me!"

"Heaven!" She called, grabbing your shoulder and shaking you but all you did was scream one last time. A haunting and otherworldly wail that pierced the darkness. A sound so agonizing and inhumane that it seemed to tear at the very fabric of existence. It echoed across the building, carrying with it the weight indescribable of sorrow and despair as your arms tightened your grip around your dying husband.

The smell of blood hid Tommy's musky perfume that was tingling your nostrils. The deafening ringing in your ears covered Polly and her nephew's voice. Your breaths came shallow and weak, your body becoming heavier as darkness crept in. Slowly, your eyes fluttered shut. In one final movement, you collapsed beside your husband, your last thought a silent hope that he would live.

Or that you would at least die trying to save him.

✞ Any comment, review, reblog, or constructive criticism is welcome. Your reactions really motivate me and keep me alive, so please don't be shy. English is not my first language. gif by the wonderful @alicent-targaryen.

✞ Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @jomarch-wannabe @esposadomd @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia000 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastick @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @raincoffeeandfandoms @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996 @vanhelsingsbigtoe @cherubswhispers @lokigirlszendaya @justrainandcoffee @mischievouslittlecreature

[novashelby]

Forgive Me-Tommy Shelby Smut

Pairing: TommyxReader(third person)

Word count: 2k-ish

Summary: Tommy Shelby is attracted to his attorney's daughter, and decides to corrupt her little nun brain at work.

Prompt: "What makes you think I am going to fuck you?"

Warning: Degrading language, non-con, Dubcon, oral(m), religious banter.

@darlingsfandom

“Y’know,” Tommy said, weaving himself through the wooden pews. It was a rare occasion that he was in church as he and God didn’t talk very much. If not, at all. You see, they weren’t on the best of terms. But he could admit that. He had no shame in his religious affiliations, or lack of. But her? Looking at her kneeling in the novice robes with her hands folded was laughable, at best. Tommy pointed his finger at her, wiggling it. “This, honestly…Love, why?”

She’d been trying hard to focus on her prayer for the last thirty minutes, knelt down, hands folded. Stiffening, she rolled her eyes up and let out a long sigh of frustration. Perhaps she was a little wild in her teen years, but what did he know of any of it? He was just her father’s client. Her father was an attorney, a big wig one in London. However, she hardly ever associated with him. And the only times she ever spoke with Mr. Thomas Shelby was when she was required to go to dinner parties and he just so happened to be there. “Mr. Shelby,” she greeted, though he’d been circling the pews for quite some time.

Finally he made it to hers, sliding in and kneeling right next to her. When his elbow caressed her arm, she flinched away, giving him a wild look. Amused, he asked, “oh, sorry, is that a sin these days? I mean, you are a messenger of God…know all his updated terms of services, eh?”

Getting up, she looked down at him.  “Instead of saundering within the pews, perhaps you should head to confession, Mr. Shelby. I can direct you, if you’d like? Or….” She leaned in, a snarky grin playing on her face. “I can give you the fast pass to hell, surely the Devil can’t wait to meet his biggest fan from Birmingham, eh?” It was the mockery for him. The little teasing infliction of her voice. Eh. He reached up to grip her cheeks, but she turned away before he could. Tommy got up and followed her, and when she heard the click of his lighter, she stopped. “There is no smoking allowed in the church, Thomas. Put it out.”

The cigarette rested between his fingers. “Do the rules still apply to nonbelievers?”

“If you are such a nonbeliever,” she said, turning on her heels. “Then you’d best find better company elsewhere.” Instead of leaving, he sat on the priest’s velvet chair on the altar. He leaned back, crossing his legs as if it was his lounge chair. Luckily for her, she was the only one in the church besides a few custodians. 

“What would your father say,” he said, pointing at her with a cigarette, giving her a knowing look. “Being so disrespectful to his client. To an older person. To a man.”

“He’d say nothing,” she quipped, gathering her bag with her notes and bible. Some of her hair had been peeking through her white veil. Tommy pushed off the chair and walked over, grabbing her arm. Flinching, she pushed him off, a nasty glare on her face. “Don’t touch me-”

“C’mere,” he said, regaining his grip and pulling her in. “You’re being immodest,” he said, a teasing glint in his eyes as he poked the loose strands back under the veil. People were weak under him. Once they were trapped by his little games, it was hard to push away. And she was no different, so small under him. Like the good girl she was meant to be, she stayed in place. “You see,” he started, words muffled slightly from the smoke perched between his lips. “I don’t think this is all you. I think…I think you are here just to be a little fuckin’ brat-”

“Mr. Shelby,” she interjected. “If you don’t mind, I have to get to study.”

When she tried to move from him, he gripped tighter. “I do mind, actually.” Yes, it was true, she had a wild era once in her teens. But it stopped at dancing and drinking. Never had she ever broken the seal. The church was safe. It was to keep her safe, and never had she considered the scenario where a man had her trapped. Mr. Shelby of all men. The small of her back pressed against the side of a wooden pew, digging into her body. The edge felt sharp, even through her thick robes. “I quite like your company. I find it…redeeming? As if my soul is just cleansing being in your presence.”

“You’re mocking me,” she said in a mere whisper, their eyes connecting.

“No,” he said, sarcastically while his knee pressed between her legs. “It’s true. Forgive me, I’m just thinking….” He paused, words trailing off. “Just how much you can save me.”

“I’ll pray for you,” she said, pushing at his chest, but he was just too strong for her.

Grinning, he leaned in, forehead resting against hers. “And how do you pray? On your knees? Hmmm…that’s a good idea. You’ll pray for me, right here. On your knees. Go on, be a good little girl and get on your knees.” He stepped back and waited. His face said it all…don’t try to move. Without breaking eye contact, she slid to her knees. A nun, sure, but she knew enough about life to understand what he wanted. “What do you think you should do?” he asked, all emotion leaving his voice. Her hands reached up to his trousers, closing her eyes. To his amusement, her fingers fumbled with the belt loop, struggling. “I guess those wild years did you no good. Or are you just out of practice? C’mon.” He took over, undoing the metal clasp on his belt and unzipping his trousers.

Eyes squeezed shut, chin quivering, she sobbed. “Mr. Shelby, please-”

“It’s coming, love,” he chuckled, flicking her forehead. “Take it out.”

“You don’t understand,” she said, pleading, tears streaming down her face. “I could lose my apprenticeship!”

“Then Mr. Shelby will give you a better one,” he said, grabbing her hand and placing it against his hardening cock. “Take it out, go on. Do your job.” She couldn’t look at him while doing it; pulling the waistband of his underwear down by the hooks of her fingers. Her fingers gently caressed the cock before it came out, displayed in front of her. Gently, he lifted her chin. “Open your eyes.” Her eyes fluttered open, averting her glance from his cock. Tommy laughed, and teased, “looks like you don’t wanna be here. Come on now, put a smile on that pretty face.” He pulled the sides of her trembling lips and forced a smile upon her face. “There we go, all happy to take your father’s cock.” The words were enough to send a chill up her spine, nevermind his throbbing cock lightly teasing at her lips. Releasing her lips, he snaked his hand around her head and grabbed her hair through her veil. “That’s what you call your priest, right? Haha, Father Shelby….Fuckin’ ‘ell. Never in my life….” 

“I’ll do it,” she agreed in a whisper. Just please stop taunting me. 

“I know you will,” he said, his other hand rubbing her cheek. What he did next took her by surprise; pulling her head back and a ball of spit forming at his lips. He spit in her face. “Cause I know and you know that deep, deep down you are a dirty fuckin’ girl that craves a cock buried in her holes.” She nodded to please him, repeating that she was a dirty girl and that she wanted his cock in one of her holes. The spit was running down her cheek, dripping to her dress leaving a wet streak. 

“Ahhh,” she moaned, opening her mouth wide and sticking her tongue out. He commented how no true good girl knows how to display her mouth so pretty. Leaning in, she took the tip first; kissing, sucking with a pop. Salty and feeling like sin, his precum rested on her tongue. Deeper he had told her, hands resting on the back of her head, pressing her lightly.

His hips jerked and twitched slightly as he cursed. “Shit,” he hissed, fingers digging into the veil. “C’mon, you can take daddy in more. I know you can…Fuck, baby. How dare you try to hide this mouth from me.” Nervously, she choked and tried to back away before taking him in a little more; tongue swirling around his length. 

With a free hand, she wrapped her fingers around the base of his cock and pumped while her tongue worked the tip. Removing him from her mouth, she slid her lips in an array of kisses and licks around the shaft before taking him in again, sucking up and down, drool dripping from her bottom lip. Tommy closed his eyes, gently rocking his hips into her, head thrown back. Fuck he hissed, enjoying how her mouth was so warm and wet around him. It took all his strength not to pick her up and throw her over the altar. No, no…he couldn’t be that disrespectful. “Fuck, baby girl…You’re too good. You’re so good for me. Look at you…being such a whore for the Devil of Birmingham.” She hated to admit it, but it was getting to her; his hands, his words, his cock. Her legs were trembling with need, and it made her feel ashamed. Sucking his cock, she moaned at his degrading, taunting banter.  “Faster, whore….C’mon, take your daddy deeper.” He pushed in more. The poor girl choked as it hit the back of her throat, but he loved that. It was the best feeling; dominating a cunt’s throat. The way it would make their throat burn. It certainly made hers burn in agony, but she wanted to make him happy. He paused, thumb wiping away tears from under her eyes, giving her a moment's beak. Then, to his surprise, it was her who started bobbing her head again, looking up at him with doe-like eyes. 

Tommy didn’t break eye contact, enjoying it as some form of submission. Bobbing her head faster, her moans matched the speed. To keep him the way she wanted, she gripped his hips. “What a pretty girl,” he commented when she pulled back, allowing the pool of spit in her mouth to drip over his twitching dick. She smiled up at him, lips puffy and abused, before sucking him back in; licking, sucking, swallowing. He helped her along, feeling his orgasm build up; bucking his hips forward, faster and with better rhythm. “Good girl, my good girl…fuck! You’re going to swallow it all for me, right?”

“Mmmhm,” she moaned, cock filling her mouth as she matched his speed.

“Daddy is going to fill all those fuckin’ holes,” he said mid high. “Every one, baby girl. You’re gonna drip his cum from your tight ass and daddy’s going to breed that tight fuckin’ cunt.” His words spilled out, and after a while, he was incoherent. His orgasm ripped through him, lacing the inside of her mouth with hot ropes of cum. “F-fuck,” he groaned, getting a few last pumps out while his eyes went hooded. Breaths jagged and uneven, he pulled away, gripping her chin. “Show daddy…ah, good fuckin’ girl. Swallow it.”

“Ahhh,” she moaned, mouth opened as if she was proud before swallowing it. It tasted salty and a bit sweet. Truthfully, perhaps a little vile, but it made her feel dirty. Tommy leaned down and pressed a kiss to her cocked ruined lips. “Thank you, sir.”

“I told you,” he said, teasing. “I know you are just a dirty little slut deep down. Now, are you going to go repent your dirty little sins or do you want to go for a ride with Mr. Shelby?” He tucked himself away and helped her up. “C’mon.” He answered for her, helping her out of the church and to his car. 

She looked up at him, and asked with a teasing glint in her eyes, “What makes you think I’m going to fuck you?” 

“We already established,” he started, pushing the wooden doors open. “You’re a dirty little girl.” 

[shion-ah]

Death of me

Cillian Murphy as Thomas Fucking Shelby

"Do you honestly think I could ever forget?"

Hayley Atwell as Katherine Redwine

"Christ...just tell him or I will."

Annabelle Wallis as Grace Burgess

"Is that jealousy I hear?"

Joe Cole as John Shelby

"You'll always be a Shelby never get that."

Paul Anderson as Arthur Shelby

"Don't worry luv, we got you. Who do I gotta kill?"

Sophie Rundle as Ada Shelby

"You've always been there for me, of course I'll be here for you."

Helen McCrory as Polly Grey

"Us women are smarter. Now chin up, we have a job to do."

Chapter One

The air of Small Heath seemed to have a way of sticking to your skin or clothing. It left you feeling almost sticky and sweaty from the grim that would collect no matter how careful you chose to be. The people had grown used to such things and one could never be too precious about their clothing. Children seemed to run wild with their dogs and friends, men in the factories returning home covered in soot and the women trying to keep their homes cleaned to the best of their ability. Katherine Redwine had been brought up on Watery Lane and in her young mind, she believed that this was always going to be the case. “Kat, are you listening?” The annoyed voice of Ada rang through her ears pulling her attention away from the window. “Yes, of course. You were saying?” Katherine gave her friend a smile and lifted her cup of tea to her lips. It was rare that the two girls got moments like this and she didn’t mean to waste her time lost in the clouds. Ada watched Katherine with a sad smile of her own. Since the war Katherine hadn’t been the same, which she supposed was the common saying amongst the rest of the world. “I was saying that I think it is time that we get you back out there. You are a beautiful girl and I know anyone would be lucky to have you.” Ada leaned forward in her chair and crossed her ankles. “He wouldn’t want you to live like this. Pat-” “I’m alright I promise, I am just not ready. There’s still too much to do right now.” It wasn’t a complete lie. Since the men had come back home it had been a hard adjustment for her. First her brother had been killed and the man she had loved for most of her life had simply turned his back and had barely spoken a full sentence to her. And now that same man seemed to have found more trouble as if he had been fishing for it. Katherine shook her head placing the cup down back on the table giving the young Shelby woman’s hand a small squeeze. “But in the meantime I look forward to hearing all about how sweet and kind Freddie is.” At the mention of Freddie Thorne, Ada's cheeks began to flush, the usual reaction when the man was pulled into the conversation or whenever Ada told her friend of the latest escapades the two had gotten into. Katherine watched as Ada continued to talk about how much she loved Freddie and the latest times they had to meet up in secret, the forbidden romance felt like a dream she had had once. She had been so young when she first met him but those blue eyes of Thomas Shelby would forever haunt her. She was sure she would die with the image of his eyes, his smile permanently imprinted into her thoughts. She had been so angry with him, the sting of her slap across his face still stung her hand when she thought about it for too long. Of course when she had heard of what he found she wanted to try to knock some sense into him. 

And now she had a sinking feeling in her gut that felt like it was growing larger and larger each time she tried to swallow. Leave it to the most clever man she knew to bring down the eye of the government, the IRA, and god knows who else by finding and taking those guns. 

Thomas fucking Shelby. 

Those words rang in her mind when her man had told her, they rang when she confronted Charlie Strong and Curly. And once she had left Ada making her way down the street and heard of his stunt with the Chinese in a show to gather more bets. Any time she had tried to tell Thomas that he was getting into things he had no business doing, he would tell her that it “wasn’t women’s business” and would drop it at that, leaving Katherine to stare at him in a mix of frustration and continued heartache. 

Katherine began to make her way to the Garrison pub for her usual one drink with Harry giving a small nod and smile to the people she passed and in return would gain her own “Mrs. Shelby” greeting. She had grown numb to the nickname and had given up on correcting those that continued to use it and she decided to see it as a type of shield. No one fucked with the Peaky Blinders and the Shelby name went a long way in Small Heath. If Thomas had taught her anything it was to appear as calm and unbothered as possible when inside you just want to shoot something, or rather someone.

“Welcome in my lady, your usual?” Harry said, placing a glass down on the bar once Katherine had entered. She made her way to the middle of the bar and took her usual seat. “Yes please, Harry.” Katherine gave the older man a kind smile and glanced about the pub. The usual bar flies were about four glasses in and only acknowledged her with a simple nod or not at all. “How have you been Harry? Haven’t been given any trouble have you?”

“None, miss. Mostly the occasional drunkard fight but it ends well enough.” Harry placed the Irish whiskey down for the Redwine and leaned on the bar top. “You look as if you need a good drink and a good sleep.” Katherine huffed a laughed at her friend’s words and shrugged taking a sip from the amber liquid. “Don’t I always look this way?” She teased tilting her head. She had always enjoyed Harry’s company; he was kind in his own way and cared for the Garrison like it should have been. This was home and he had taken care of her when she had gotten so drunk she hadn’t been able to stand and he made sure that she would never reach that low again. He had made Katherine promise to not lose herself in her grief or heartbreak. He had been the father figure that she needed after Patrick had been killed. 

“Kat, don’t bullshit me.” Harry shook his head. Katherine spun her glass slightly, his gentle but stern tone was comforting in a sense. It was the same tone he had when he found her in the private room that Thomas always used. She had broken down and cried in Harry’s arms and was more whiskey than person and she was sure her breath could have caused an explosion if she lit a match. Earlier that day they had held a service for Patrick and it had really hit her that he was gone, her big brother, her protector was nowhere to be found. Just like her Tommy, sweet happy Tommy who was able to light up a room with his smile and whose laugh was contagious seemed to have died the same night. Harry had listened as she cried and mourned the lives lost and dreams that were crushed but once she was done he picked her up and helped her upstairs and cleaned her up and put her to bed. He had banned anyone giving her any kind of alcohol in the Garrison until she was able to function. He would be damned if the sweet girl turned into one of the men he served. “I’m fine Harry, I promise.” Katherine was touched as he watched her but before he could comment the doors to the Garrison were pushed open as the one man who she couldn’t stand walked through in the most attention way he could have. 

Fucking Thomas. 

(It will get better I promise but let me know what you think!)

[fireside-fanfics]

The Weight You Carry

Based on this prompt.

The rain drummed a soothing rhythm against the windows of Arrow House, a melody that usually lulled Jo into peaceful dreams. Tonight, however, sleep eluded her. She was wrapped in a blanket, curled in an armchair by the fireplace, her legs tucked beneath her. A book rested in her lap, but she hadn’t turned a page in over an hour. The flames cast a golden glow on the room, their warmth failing to chase away the unease that coiled in her chest.

The sound of the front door opening and closing startled her. She glanced at the clock on the mantel—well past midnight. Heavy footsteps echoed in the hallway, and she knew without looking who it was.

The door creaked open, and there he stood: Tommy Shelby, disheveled but still infuriatingly composed. His shirt sleeves were rolled up, revealing strong forearms lightly dusted with ink stains from his paperwork. His hair was slightly damp from the rain, the stray strands falling over his forehead making him look younger, softer. A small smile tugged at the corner of Jo’s lips at the sight of her husband entering their home.

“You’re still awake?” he asked, his voice low, laced with a hint of surprise. He stepped inside, letting the door close behind him. “I thought you’d be passed out by now.”

Jo gave a small shrug with a soft smile as she responded, “Couldn’t sleep... You’re back late.”

Tommy didn’t answer immediately. Instead, he crossed the room to her, his steps deliberate as though measuring the space between them. He sank into the chair opposite hers with a weary sigh, his body folding into the seat as though the weight of the day had finally caught up with him.

“Business,” he said simply, lighting a cigarette.

The flick of his lighter momentarily illuminated his sharp features—his eyes shadowed but attentive. He leaned back in his chair, studying her through the thin veil of smoke. Jo gestured toward the untouched glass of whiskey on the side table beside her.

“I poured that hours ago,” she murmured, “thinking it might help, but it didn’t feel right drinking alone.”

Tommy’s mouth tilted into a faint smirk. “Soft, are we? The Jo I know would’ve finished the bottle and dared me to keep up.”

She laughed softly, the sound warm and familiar, like the crackle of the fire. “The Jo you knew didn’t have a front-row seat to all your secrets. It changes a person.”

His smirk faded, his gaze flickering to the fire. “Does it, now?”

“It does,” she said, her tone softer now, less teasing. “You carry so much, Tommy. It’s hard not to feel it too.”

The silence stretched between them, heavy but not uncomfortable. Tommy inhaled deeply from his cigarette before leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees.

“You shouldn’t,” he said, his voice quiet but firm. “You shouldn’t feel it, Jo. You shouldn’t carry anything I do. You’ve got enough on your own plate.”

Jo tilted her head, watching him with an expression that was equal parts exasperated and fond. “And yet, here I am on the sofa in my nightgown. Still awake. Still worrying about you.”

Tommy’s lips twitched into something that wasn’t quite a smile but wasn’t quite a frown. “I’m not worth losing sleep over, Jo.”

“Not up to you to decide that,” she shot back, a hint of fire in her tone.

That drew a low chuckle from him. He extinguished his cigarette in the ashtray on the table between them, leaning back into his chair.

“Stubborn woman,” Tommy muttered, his eyes twinkling with delight beneath his lashes.

“Takes one to know one,” she countered with a grin.

Tommy shook his head, a rare softness creeping into his features as he watched her. There was something about the way the firelight danced on her skin, the way her eyes glimmered with unspoken determination, that made the exhaustion in his chest feel just a little lighter. The couple was silent for several minutes simply enjoying each other’s company. Tommy quietly watched Jo as she read her book.

“Do you ever regret it?” he asked suddenly.

Her brows furrowed. “Regret what, love?”

“This.” He gestured vaguely between them, his voice quieter now. “Being here. Staying.”

“Absolutely not, Tommy,” Jo answered firmly without hesitation. “Not once, not even for a second.”

Tommy’s gaze locked with hers, searching for any hint of doubt, but there was none. She stood, crossing the small space between them; she nudged his legs open with her knee and traced shapes on his thigh. Her hands found his, warm and steady against his calloused fingers.

“You’ve got this idea in your head,” she began, her voice soft but firm, “that you have to do everything alone. That no one could ever understand—that you have to keep it all locked up inside forever.”

Tommy opened his mouth to protest, but she cut him off.

“I’m not asking for all of it, Tommy. I’m not even asking for most of it. I’m just asking for enough to know when you’re hurting, so I can remind you that you’re not alone.”

He stared at her, his throat working as he swallowed hard. For a man so accustomed to wielding control like a weapon, her words left Tommy disarmed. After a moment, he shifted and wrapped his hands around her waist. He guided her gently so she was seated on his lap; he wrapped an arm around her waist, anchoring her against him. Jo smiled widely as her knees bent and her legs listed on either side of him.

“Alright...” Tommy murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “I can do that. I can give you that. Not tonight, but tomorrow.”

Jo leaned into him and rested her head against his shoulder, the tension in her body finally easing. “Sounds lovely, Tommy.”

For the first time that night, Tommy allowed himself to relax, his chin resting lightly atop her head as the fire crackled softly beside them. The rain continued its steady rhythm against the windows, but it no longer felt cold or lonely. For now, in the quiet warmth of the room, they were enough for each other.

[evita-shelby]

New Year's Ava

The Mirror Demon is out again, this time to throw a party to die for. All ---fictional and not--- are invited by Ava herself.

👗- have the demon herself dress you for the party

🍧-have the demon give you food crafted by her own hand

🍾- share a drink with the demon and ask her anything you wish to know

🎁- get a gift from the demon

🪞- give your oc its own mirror version

be sure to ask everything before December 30th

⚠️ all items sourced from the mirror demon dimension open at your own discretion⚠️

dividers by @saradika-graphics

[copinghex]

Fool's gold

Summary: Eleanor welcomes Tommy back home, but the man who returns isn't the same who left.

A/N: For Christmas, I decided to gift myself bringing Eleanor back :) Is this a series? I'd rather say no. It is shaped like one, but it's totally up to my brain if it's continued or not and we know how it's like. Anyway, I hope you like it!!

Chapter 1: Lots of love, Thomas Shelby.

Eleanor woke up in a bedroom that wasn't hers. Looking superficially, anyone would guess the room belonged to a woman, her hygiene products, make-up and clothes occupied the room while her thin body rested on the bed.

She sat up, rubbing her eyes and heavily sighing. That day, the bedroom's owner would return, the coldness of his last letter haunted her. If he couldn’t say he missed her, he surely wouldn't want her in his house.

Walking to the small mirror in the wall, she ran a hand through her messy hair, usually she made a braid before sleep, moisturizing with cream borrowed from Polly so the curls would look nice in the morning. Last night she didn't have a mind for it.

All she thought about were the things she wanted to do to him, kiss him, hold him, cook for him, talk to him or just watch him from close. After so long apart, she yearned to feel his warmth again.

Peeking at the bed table, at an old picture they took together, Eleanor gulped, his signature was simple yet tender. Lots of love, Thomas Shelby, she feared the Thomas to return wouldn't hold such fondness of her.

Changing off her nightgown, she grouped all her belongings into a corner to make it less obvious that she took over his room. The bed was perfectly made and she sprinkled some of his cologne at the mattress so it'd smell like him, although mostly smelled like alcohol.

Before she entered the kitchen, incessant talking was heard, Katie, Maria, George and Pearl chattered over every single aspect of their young lives. Sat still, Ada sipped on her tea, ignoring John's horde of children.

“Morning,” Eleanor watched today's newspaper burning in the fireplace, “where's Polly?”

“Praying,” Ada filled her mouth with bread, “and Finn isn't up yet,”

Eleanor quietly huffed, in the first months of war she accompanied Polly in her morning prayers, as time went by and the radio announced ten thousand men died per day, she lost faith God would actually help those poor souls, seeing old colleagues wearing all black in the streets didn't help either.

The scent of herbal tea traveled to her nostrils as she poured herself a cup. She missed the coffee Tommy made when she stayed for the night, she slept almost on top of him, using his chest to support a book. Tommy enjoyed Wuthering heights, Pride and prejudice not so much.

In the next minute, she stood next to Polly in the living room, in respectful silence until the prayers were done, “You shouldn't have stopped, you used to smile more,”

Eleanor blinked, she wasn't an atheist, their prayers weren't insignificant poems told to the walls, she believed they were purposely ignored, “What will we do today?”

“The whole Small Heath will be at the station, so will we,”

“I thought, maybe we should make a special dinner, or get something expensive from the Garrison,”

Polly's eyes drifted away while she considered the idea, lately she spent so long at the betting shop she almost forgot how to welcome men home. Her days as bookmaker were counted and warming up to chores again wouldn’t do harm, even if she’d never be fully a housewife.

“They’ll be back around three, if I clean, can you cook?”

With agreeable nods, they went to the kitchen. Six hours later, the house was spotless and the table set. Each woman was in a bedroom, making themselves presentable.

Some colognes were overpriced even if destined for the working class, Eleanor had one of these, eight crochet coats had to be sold until she had enough money to buy it, her hands nearly fell off during crafting, but it was worthy, because she got a compliment every time she wore it.

In her best dress, shoes and hat, she didn’t feel alright, she wasn’t going to a party or a fancy social occasion, she’d meet Tommy and his brothers. Biting her lip in anxiety, she changed into a white dress and red wool coat matching her shoes. She felt better looking clean and proper, not a beauty queen from a magazine.

The walk to the train station was fast and silent, the children had to be held tightly by the hand so they wouldn’t run ahead. Many families still waited for their soldiers, all benches were full and Ada’s feet hurt from standing in such high heels.

The first to show up was John, he didn’t have time to approach the family since his children found him first, shouting and running through the crowd to catch him in a big hug. Arthur and Tommy showed up together, walking slowly in their worn out uniforms.

Arthur got his aunt and sister on each arm, leaving Eleanor to Tommy. There he stood, his once warm eyes looked hollow, combative even, his freckled face covered by a layer of sweat and his hair slighly disheveled, although combed with gel.

Breathing heavily, her body froze, shook and threw itself at him. Both arms wrapped around his neck, Tommy’s hands rested on the small of her back, he held her like she was the last floater in a shipwreck, an essential survival item, she held him like a porcelain vase, a fragile ornament she feared to break.

Tears from her eyes were immediately reprimanded, she breathed in and out at slow pace, brushing her face on his shoulder, it was a happy occasion, she’d hate to ruin it with pointless crying. Her hands ran up and down his back, some of the ribs that could previously be felt were replaced by strong muscle and when she finally lifted her head, Tommy's eyes held something she couldn't quite point out.

Eleanor cupped his face, tracing his cheekbones and the wrinkles around his eyes, he looked exhausted and yet, still dashingly handsome, a weak smile got to her face as she felt her increasing heartbeat, after all this time, being face to face with him still gave her butterflies.

At last, she gently pecked his lips, Tommy barely moved, closing his eyes and letting himself be kissed. His hands hadn't moved from her back yet and only did when John called for them, “Oi! Lovebirds! Keep it until we're home, yeah?”

Turning around, Eleanor bit her bottom lip to suppress a big smile, “And how is my favorite corporal going?”

It was hard to hug John with a kid still holding onto his leg, but it didn't stop him from lifting her up. Laughing, she didn't notice Tommy squinting his eyes, John quickly put her back down, awkwardly squeezing her shoulder.

“And you?” she asked Arthur, “No hug for me?”

“Yeah, how are you, sister?” Arthur's chin rested on top of her head while his arms wrapped around her shoulders.

“Alright,” Polly said, her eye make-up smudged, “let's go home now,”

Eleanor ran to hold Tommy's hand. Walking behind the rest, tension formed between them, as if they had nothing left to say, there were no words for the hole in her chest that only his presence filled, nor for the piece of his brain the war had rotten.

“Tommy!” someone called, the whole family looked back and Ada ran ahead to Freddie Thorne's arms.

Tommy stopped, dropping Eleanor's hand and waiting until Freddie approached with Ada on his arm, “Didn't see you in the train,”

“Got into a distant wagon,”

“Yeah,” he eyed Eleanor, “I remember you, it's- Hm-”

“Eleanor, I'm glad to see you're alright,”

“You should have dinner with us, I'm sure there's enough for everyone,” Ada suggested to Freddie.

“Oh, there are some comrades waiting for me at the Black Swan, we'll drink a last one all together,” he dismissed, “join us, Tommy?”

“Yeah, of course,”

Freddie affectionately patted Ada's head before walking away, Tommy didn't bother looking back. There Eleanor stood, trembling lips and watery eyes.

He didn't come back to dinner and she only saw him again the next morning.

[reiwanwan]

A warm place for goodbyes

Summary: Hazel Shelby thought she had left chaos behind when she moved to London, but an unexpected connection with Alfie Solomons challenges everything she thought she wanted.

a/n: this chapter took longer than I had anticipated, but it’s finally here, and there’s a lot a lot of references from the show itself

Part 4

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content warning: none

1923

Walking through the bustling streets of London, I clutched the crumpled piece of paper with Alfie’s scribbled address. I finally had the time to visit his workplace. The thought of him running a bakery seemed almost laughable. I pictured him in a flour-dusted apron, kneading dough with those rough hands of his, cursing up a storm when the frosting didn’t behave. It was such a ridiculous image that I almost didn’t notice the building looming ahead of me.

As I got closer I saw multiple people — men, coming in and out of what looked like a factory. The scent of freshly baked bread was nowhere to be found. Instead, the air was heavy with the acrid tang of machinery and smoke. The men had soot and grime on their faces, hoisting barrels on their shoulders. I squinted my eyes at the address written on a small piece of paper with Alfie’s scribbled handwriting, “this should be the place…” I thought to myself.

“Ah, you must be Mrs. Hazel?” A man with curly black hair says to me from the entrance. “Oh y-yes that is me…I’m here to meet Alfie?” startled that he knew my name. He nods and extends his hands to help me up the steps, “Alfie is just inside, I’ll take you there alright?, oh and I’m Ollie by the way, forgive me for not introducing myself earlier”. Workers passed us, some lifting barrels, others smoking in corners. “Some bakery” I muttered under my breath.

And after a long minute of walking down the hall, I finally saw what I came here for— Alfie. I watched as he ordered men back and forth, and oh did he look absolutely charming when doing so, despite his not-so beautiful language of course. He strides up to me with wide open arms, “Ahh there you are, Hazelnut!”. I couldn’t help but snort at the nickname as I reached over to him and was met with a big bear hug. My face got squished against his chest as he tightens his big arms around my body. When he pulled away, he lifts my chin up and places a chaste kiss to my lips, his beard tickling my chin. “You like my bakery? taken a look around?” he asks. I straighten my clothes and raised my brows, “well…it’s certainly a very different looking bakery I must say, a very big one at that” I added. “Yes…it is big, and I’m very proud of it” he exclaims.

Alfie then leads over to a small table with his hand at the small of my back. “You want to try some of my bread? which one did you want eh, white or brown bread?” he asked curiously. I shifted my gaze over to the “bread” in front of me and smirked and shook my head at him. “I think I’ll try the white bread”, Alfie nods his head in approval. “We’ll see that’s how I know you’ve got standards love, and taste, because the white stuff is amazing, the brown stuff…it’s fuckin awful that stuff” he claims as he pours for me a cup. I raise my cup up to him. I took a sip, surprised by the smoothness of the rum. “It’s good”, he takes the cup away from my hands and walks me over elsewhere, “yeah…that’s good…that’s good, Ollie, go back in there and tell the lads to move those boxes will you? thanks ever so much”.

He walks me into his office and plops himself down on his chair. “You can sit down as well…over there”, he points to the chair across of him. “Or you could always sit here on my lap if you’d like” he says, patting his lap. I rolled my eyes, “Tempting”. He chuckles lowly, “Ah, don’t be daft cmere” he chuckles as he pulls my arm and places me on his lap before I could protest, I could feel my cheeks burning up a bright shade of red. I sat down awkwardly and stiff, my throat beginning to get dry. His hands palm my back, “loosen up a bit I won’t bite ya, it’s comfy innit?” he teases.

It was beginning to become comfortable as I settled on his lap much more, resting my head on his chest as he twirls a strand of my brown hair in his fingers.

“So this is what you meant by a bakery huh?” I asked. “Yeah, it’s quite the bakery isn’t it? bake all sorts of bread, make about 10,000 loaves a week…amazing innit?”.

“Sure is…” I played along.

I looked around at his office, it was not much but seemed enough. The desk was covered with papers scattered all over, books, pens, you name it. A bit much like Alfie if I dare say.

After a moment of silence I decided to speak up, “so…you made me come all the way over here to your ‘bakery’, to serve me white rum is that it?”. And right after I asked that question Alfie grabs a hold of my cheeks, squishing it together gently but hard enough to mush my lips together. “Now listen here treacle” he says in a soft but serious tone, “Here…in this lovely bakery yeah…the distinction between bread and rum…shall not be discussed, got it?” he asks, waiting for my response. I figured it already— the bakery was just a ruse for a distillery which I assume is also ran illegally, was quite obvious as well. I looked up at him with big blue doe eyes, eye lash batting at him innocently, and nodded my head compliantly.

“Say it love” he instructs, his fingers squishing my cheeks tighter.

“Yesh Alfie…” I managed to respond, despite my voice being slightly muffled.

He hums satisfactorily and lets go. I palm my cheeks that were left stinging a bit from the pressure of his fingers. “Aw I’m sorry about that Hazelnut” he coos as he reaches over to my cheeks again and pressed his lips to it, holding and delaying the release. I turn my head away and feigned a pout. Alfie looks at me, unfazed, as if he knows me too well. “Now Hazel, that won’t work on me, those fake sad eyes…you’re not foolin me treacle, I know when you’re really mad, your eyebrows will really show it and those wrinkles on your forehead too”. I try to suppress my smile and giggles, but to no avail. He immediately takes this as a sign to go for the offence and attack me with soft kisses on all over my face and neck, trapping me in between his large arms.

For the first time in my life, I genuinely felt so happy with a man. I never want for this moment to end. If only it could be like this forever. Me and Alfie, just the two of us. No Tommy, no having to hide about selling rum, no more of any of this. But who was I kidding? I answered my own question. Deep down, I already knew that Alfie wouldn’t let go of this life just because I want him to.

Sure, he loves me, but does he love me that much?.

I could only hope so.

Hope, the only thing i’ve been doing ever since I felt Alfie make my heart skip a beat.

I held on to him, hugging him as tight as I can just to savour the moment before I would have to return back home to an older sister who will most definitely interrogate me about my day.

“What’s wrong Hazel?” he asks.

“Nothing, Alfie…just wanted to hug you cuz you’re so cuddly…like a teddy bear” I teased, masking my worries.

“Alright then, well you should probably get home now, it’s getting dark…you came here alone?”. I nodded, “yeah I did, why?”. He holds my hand and walks out with me back to the entrance calling out to Ollie. “Well then at least let Ollie walk you down to the street yeah? s’not safe for you to walk alone at this time”

I would’ve tried to convince him that I would be okay on my own, but this was Alfie Solomons we’re talking about, so for his sanity, I agreed and didn’t bother to argue further.

Ollie led me away down the street as the bakery fade into the distance. “Here we are Mrs. Hazel, stay safe and take care”. “Thank you very much Ollie”. I continued making my way back home, luckily it wasn’t that far from where Ollie had dropped me off.

My doubts and worry from before start replay in my mind as I walked sullenly back home, that same heavy feeling I felt in my chest tightening again. I couldn’t shake the feeling that no matter how much I wished for a different life, this was the one Alfie had chosen.

And yet, as I walked home, I clung to the only thing I could.

Hope.

Divider credit: @thecutestgrotto

Taglist: @vivianleighwishesshewasme @weepingdreammarvel @kittenlover882

[shelbydelrey]

PREV.

2. MOTHER

“Ms. Shelby, there’s someone here to see you,” the secretary announced.

“Great, send them in,” Charlotte replied absent-mindedly; a decision that she would regret not even a minute later.

The visitor entered, revealing themselves to be a woman of high stature and dark hair.

“Lizzie,” The girl jumped out of her chair.

“Charlotte, how are you?”

The smallest of smiles appeared on the woman’s lips. Charlie glared at her brother, if in search of support or disapproval, and found him measuring the former Mrs. Shelby’s presence.

“Fine,” she responded, returning her attention to her stepmother. The first blow of surprise had subsided, “How are you?”

The other woman clasped her hands together.

“Worried. It is, in fact, the reason why i came to speak to you.”

“I’ll leave you two to it,” Duke declared. He got up and left but not before throwing Charlie a look that evoked his “Nothing good” sentiment from last friday. Lizzie paid him no mind, not when she arrived and not when he got out.

“What are you worried about?” she quizzed, suggesting with her hands that the woman should take a seat.

Sat, her stepmother wiggled her right leg while continuing to rub her hands together. 

“Charles.”

Charlie took a deep breath.

“In what sense?”

“He’s…” Lizzie sighed, “He’s different. Ever since he came back. He doesn’t talk to me, he doesn’t talk to Beth or anyone.”

Her voice trembled.

“And now Ada tells me he’s roaming around Small Heath.”

“Only to visit uncle Charlie,” the words jumped out of Charlotte before she could weigh them down, “He’s been at The Garrison too but he didn’t drink, i promise.”

Her hands curled into fists down the table. So apologetic. And what for? A man she didn’t even know?

“He’s your father’s son, Charlotte. When he came back from his war he brought hell with him.”

Her spine tensed.

“Aunt Ada won’t allow him to do anything. He’s welcome to work with her but illegitimate business is Duke’s.”

Only at the moment the glimmer of hope in Lizzie’s eyes died that Charlie noticed it was there to begin with and she watched as regret, not disappointment, took its place. A ball of heat lodged itself on her chest, stealing her breath, and the scorching fire expanded and expanded threatening to consume her whole. Charlotte knew. Charlotte knew that Lizzie never forgave her for rejecting her as a mother.

“If there was something Ada was never capable of doing was to control the men in her family,” Lizzie hammered down and rose from her seat.

Charlie closed her eyes while clenching her teeth. An idea, however, popped in her head.

“Wait!” 

Thankfully, Lizzie wasn’t out the door yet .

“I can talk to him.”

That’s what the woman’s presence meant, right? Mother, aunt and cousin couldn’t reach Charles but perhaps a sister could.

“I’ll drive some sense into him.”

Relief washed over Lizzie.

“Thank you.”

After the stepmother’s exit, exhausted, Charlie threw herself onto the chair.

The fourteen years hiatus since the last time she saw her brother would finally come to an end.

[mischievouslittlecreature]

Part 26: Do You Love Me

Summary: Lucy continues to spiral during the aftermath of the ballet, and Tommy finds compromise in the last place he was expecting to.

Word Count: 8,136

Warnings: Insecurity, sexual content, antisemitism, and references to pregnancy.

Previous Chapter • Series • Fic • Next Chapter

Chapter 13: Open Up Your Skull

Lucy rested a hand on Linda’s cheek, checking her over carefully.

“You hit her in the arm,” she said to Polly. Arthur was crouching next to her, hands over his mouth as he tried his best not to panic. 

“We need to get her inside,” Tommy spoke, taking command of the situation. He and Arthur bent, picking up Linda, who was still unconscious. They rushed her inside, heading into the dining room. Lucy followed them at a jog.

“Careful,” Tommy told her when she leant over to help him push glasses and trays off the table to make room, sending them crashing to the floor. 

“Make room for her legs,” Lucy told Polly and Lizzie, who set to work helping her toss aside the remainder of debris on the table. She was vaguely aware of Tommy trying to usher Arthur out of the room, but he ignored him.

“Get Tommy’s jacket, drape it over her,” Lucy commanded to Polly, who grabbed the black coat from where Tommy had deposited it over a chair. “Hold her legs,” she told Lizzie. Arthur was continuing to babble over Linda, who had awoken and was screaming at him in rage.

“Linda!” Tommy set a hand on her forehead. “Linda, look at me. Linda,” he forced her to face him. “You’ve got a kid. If you die, he’ll come to us to raise. You hear me?” The threat seemed to quiet her a bit. Tommy set back to work examining her arm, ripping away the fabric of the sleeve of her dress. 

“I used a derringer,” Polly said, handing Tommy a blade. He shushed Linda, suddenly soothing where he had once been commanding.

“Mr. Shelby, your guests!” 

Everyone’s heads snapped up to stare at Mosley standing in the doorway.

Tommy started shouting for him to get out, and when he didn’t move, Arthur pulled a gun on him. Mosley looked at him with an expression that was more disappointed than alarmed. 

 “I’ll deal with him,” Lucy whispered to Tommy.

“No,” he said with a shocking amount of ferocity, a look that she was familiar enough with to identify as protective flaming to life in his eyes. “Let Arthur handle it,” he turned away to order Lizzie to get some iodine from the kitchen. She rushed away. Polly handed Tommy a napkin that he tried to push into Linda’s mouth with Arthur’s help. When Lucy looked up again, it was to find that Mosley had slunk away somewhere. Probably back outside.   

“Lucy, hold her. Now, it’s really going to hurt,” Tommy warned. Lucy grasped Linda tightly, holding her in place on the table. Polly moved to help her. “One, two, three.”

Linda howled around the gag as Tommy plunged his fingers into the wound, using the blade Polly had given him to help slice it open enough for him to reach in. It didn’t take him long, not even a minute, to wrench the bullet from the flesh, tossing it towards the fireplace. Linda spat the gag out. Lucy handed Tommy a glass of whiskey while Arthur chanted reassurances over and over into Linda’s ear. 

“Hold her,” he said again, and Lucy tightened her grip on Linda to keep her still. He poured the whiskey onto the wound, Linda’s scream as he did echoing throughout the room. Arthur sobbed. Tommy set the glass down, examining the wound. 

“Is she going to be alright, Tom?” Arthur asked, hugging her. “Is she going to be alright, Tom?”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, Jesus,” Arthur was clearly hanging by a very small thread of composure. Tommy noticed his brother’s emotional instability as well, quickly sending him away to the library for some opium. Linda continued to whimper in pain, Lucy rubbing a soothing hand up and down her uninjured arm. Tommy sighed out a deep breath, returning back to Linda’s side. 

“Actually,” Polly reached in her dress, “you can use mine,” she handed a bottle to him. He–rather unnecessarily–pulled the cork out with his teeth, pouring it into the glass of whiskey still on the table. “Bought a bit,” Polly explained, “to celebrate the wedding proposal.”

“Oh! He proposed, eh?” Tommy said in mock surprise, stirring the opium into the glass. As if he hadn’t orchestrated the whole thing. Polly grinned, holding out her left hand so he could inspect the ring. Tommy nodded.

“Congratulations,” Lucy said from where she was still kneeled next to Linda. Polly beamed at them, lighting a cigarette. Tommy knelt down over Linda, wrapping an arm around her head, helping her to lift it up, suddenly incredibly paternal as he tried to coax her into drinking from the glass in his hand.

“No. I don’t want anything you’ve touched.”

“Linda, it’s alright,” Lucy assured her.

It took a little more coaxing, but finally she accepted the glass when he brought it to her lips, gulping down the whiskey. Lucy took over supporting Linda’s head while Tommy situated a cushion Polly handed him under her head. At the same moment, Arthur hurled into the room, took one look at Linda, now unconscious from the drugs, and fell to his knees, arms around his wife as he wept. 

As Tommy went to comfort his distraught brother, Lucy moved to pour herself a glass of whiskey and took a large gulp from it. 

Jesus Christ, what a fucking mess. 

Lizzie finally strode back into the room, handing the iodine and bandages to Tommy. Lucy stepped aside so that Lizzie could have room to look over her friend. As Arthur set about bandaging Linda up, Tommy ushered them all from the room to let Arthur be alone with his wife. Once in the hallway, they all sagged tiredly. Lucy rubbed at her brow, wrapping her arms around herself. 

“Mosley’s probably furious,” she pointed out. 

“He’ll get over it,” Tommy replied from where he was standing beside her, hand reaching out to touch one of the arms crossed over her chest. She had tossed her shawl away somewhere in all the commotion, and his warm hand on her sent goosebumps prickling across her skin.

“You should have let me deal with him.”

“Why? So you could have another panic attack and embarrass us?” Lizzie snapped, eyes trained on Tommy’s hand resting on Lucy’s arm. Lucy drew in on herself, cheeks flaming with humiliation and eyes falling to fix on her shoes. Pulling away, she shook Tommy’s hand off of her. 

“Lizzie,” Tommy snapped warningly. It wasn’t quite a growl, but it was close. Lizzie’s eyes narrowed at him challengingly. Lucy’s shoulders slumped like a deflated balloon. Only a few hours of her being back in the house and they were already at each other’s throats again. 

“Enough,” Polly’s eyes snapped between the three of them disapprovingly. “We need to get back outside. No doubt we’ve probably already been missed. You can save the squabbling for later.”    

Eyes still cast down, Lucy followed Polly outside swiftly, despite Tommy’s soft murmur of her name. As they approached the stage, the unfortunately familiar voice of Oswald Mosley drifted towards them. They came to a stop a few paces away from the rest of the crowd that had gathered around the stage, listening intently as Mosley spoke of unrest and new political movements. The hairs on the back of  Lucy’s neck stood up with every word, uneasiness heavy in her chest. What perhaps unnerved her even more than Mosley’s words was the reaction of the crowd around him. Cheers, applause, and cries of support echoed throughout the tent. She shifted uncomfortably. She thought that she had known her fair share of monsters during her lifetime. But Mosley was something else entirely. Something worse. She could see the looks of horror and disgust on the other family member’s faces. Only Tommy remained stoic and expressionless as he watched the fascist speak, though she could see the uneasiness and utter alarm that Mosley’s words triggered dancing behind his light blue eyes. 

Lucy felt the tension within her only grow as Mosley left the stage and approached them. He came to a stop before them and Tommy shifted, subtly, so that no one but Lucy noticed how he had planted himself firmly between her and Mosley. 

“I’m going to fuck the swan,” Mosley announced without preamble. “Somebody go and tell her to come to my room.”

“How do you know she’ll come?” Polly questioned. Mosley looked at her in quiet amusement.

“Because they always do.”

Polly glanced over at them, before turning away, moving towards the ballerinas to fetch the one that Mosley had chosen. Mosley turned his attention to Lizzie, reaching out and taking one of her hands, bringing it to his lips. Lizzie looked like she was hoping that the ground would open up and swallow her. 

“Now, forgive me. I’m going to borrow your husband for a little while.” 

Tommy looked for a moment like he wanted to scream, but instead he merely began to lead Mosley back inside.

Lucy shifted from foot to foot awkwardly. Not wanting to be left alone with Lizzie, she broke into a brisk walk back towards the house, certain that she could feel the burn of Lizzie’s accusatory eyes following her all the way to the door. 

The maids were all busy or already in bed, so it was easy for her to slip into one of the unoccupied sitting rooms without being noticed. Glancing out the window, she wondered vaguely where Polly was. Probably off with Aberama somewhere celebrating their engagement. Arthur was still in the dining room, tending to Linda, and Tommy was busy dealing with Mosley. When he was done he and Lizzie would probably go off to bed.

She wondered if she went outside and got a driver to take her back to Charlie’s, if anyone would even notice that she was gone.

She was hit by a sudden wave of loneliness, so powerful it sent tears watering in her eyes. She staggered with the thought, a painful seizing in her heart. Never before had she felt like such an afterthought, and yet that was all she was now. Something Tommy kept around for when he was bored. No longer important. 

And then there was the utter embarrassment of her panic attack from earlier, only compounded by Lizzie pointing it out. Right now, of all times, she could not afford to seem weak or unable to handle her job. Fear twisted at her guts. She truly did not know what she would do should she ever be forced out of the Blinders.

No, Tommy wouldn’t do that. Even if he didn’t want her anymore. He wasn’t cruel. 

Without her even noticing, a few tears rolled down her cheeks.

There was a sharp whining, the soft pattering of paws on the carpet, and a huge black head was nudging at her legs, Asher nuzzling at her. Now that the guests were leaving, they must have let him out from where he had been staying with the maids. The dog whined again, as if sensing her distress. Lucy scratched behind his ears, sinking heavily into an armchair.

“Good boy, Asher,” she praised softly. At least he still seemed to still want her around.  

Scrubbing desperately at her eyes, she wiped away the tears, drawing in a shaky, sobbing breath. Her eyes felt puffy. 

Maybe all this was just some big plot to get her to leave for good. She wondered how long Tommy and Lizzie may have been planning it; how long he had been looking for an excuse to get rid of her. 

“That’s not true,” Grace’s voice insisted. She had materialized in the armchair across from her, leaning forward so that her golden waves swung back and forth around her face. “You know that’s not true. He made a mistake, that’s all. You can’t possibly think that any of this is what he wanted.”

Lucy shook her head back and forth, too stubborn and too lost in the dark void of despair that had opened up inside her mind to see reason. “He doesn’t love me anymore.” She started to cry.

“Oh, Lucy,” Grace stood and went to her, wrapping her arms around her and dragging her in to lay her cheek on her chest. “He does. He does. He’s just shit at showing it sometimes.”

Lucy only sniffled. Grace sighed, stroking her hair.

“Talk to him. Tell him what you’re feeling. You’ll see. He loves you more than anything in the whole world.”

Lucy closed her eyes, unable to bring herself to believe the ghost’s words. They were just lies, created by her mind to try to cope with the lack of love she was destined to live with. 

∗ ∗ ∗

“Oh, and we need to discuss Miss. Winters.”

At Mosley’s words, the blood in Tommy’s veins went cold. From the corner of his eye, he looked the other MP over. What did you do to her? Lucy’s eyes had been wide and fearful when she’d come to tell him that Mosley was waiting in his office. And the way that she jerked away when he tried to touch her…

Mosley had done something to her. Tommy was sure of it. 

“What about her?”

Mosley pursed his lips. They were sitting on the couch in Tommy’s office, glasses of whiskey on the table in front of them, the fire in the hearth crackling. 

“This affair that you’ve been carrying on with her…it’s too out in the open. Especially with her working for you.”

“We’ve been discreet–”

“And yet, rumors still fly.” Mosley shot him a disapproving look. “It could start to cause problems. While I was waiting for you earlier this evening, I noticed several photographs of her here in your office. And I’ve seen a couple more scattered throughout the house. If I’ve noticed, surely so have others. They will talk.” 

“So you want me to put away her photographs?” It would hurt him to do so. He already had to live without her in his home. Was it really too much that he had a few pictures of her?

Maybe they could keep them up and only put them away on the–hopefully rare–occurrence that Mosley came by to visit. 

Mosley chuckled. The sound made Tommy’s stomach twist nauseatingly. “No, Shelby,” he turned a smile of pure, calculated evil onto him. “I want you to get rid of her.”

Tommy stared at him, momentarily at a loss for words. No.

Already, Mosley had ordered that he get rid of the company lawyer because he was Jewish, and to give McCavern control over the racecourses north of Wincanton. Hadn’t he already agreed to enough to pass Mosley’s fucking loyalty tests?

“I know, I know. It will be difficult to find someone with Miss. Winters’s wide array of…skill sets.”

Tommy swallowed. His throat felt like it had been lined with sandpaper. “Lucy is a part of my family, Mr. Mosley—”

“Mistresses aren’t family, Mr. Shelby. They are merely tools to an end. Find someone else to hold your interests.”

I don’t want anyone else. Tommy frowned at the suggestion that he could swap Lucy out with just about anyone and have it not matter. 

But those arguments weren’t going to mean anything to Mosley. So he adjusted his strategy. 

“She’s an invaluable member of my organization, Mosley. I can’t get rid of her.”

Mosley nodded, lips still twitching upwards. “I thought you’d say that. Which is why I’ve come up with an alternative solution. If Miss. Winters were to be married, most of these problems would go away.”

A roaring started to build up in Tommy’s ears. Lucy. Married. To someone else. His fingers tightened where they’d come to rest on his knee. 

Hypocritical as it made him, the idea of Lucy marrying anyone that wasn’t him made him want to scream and weep simultaneously. 

“You may have a few candidates in mind, of course. But I know of some men personally who I’m sure would be very interested in the prospect of your little redhead.” Mosley shot him a knowing look. “And who may be willing to look the other way when it comes to any…dalliances she may continue to have on the side. For the right price, of course.”

The idea of marrying Lucy off to someone at all was almost too much to bear. The thought of marrying her to one of Mosley's fascist friends made him want to vomit. 

“I don’t share, Mr. Mosley,” Tommy said sternly. Any amusement on Mosley’s face at the whole motion drained away, displeasure replacing it at Tommy’s rejection of his order. 

“You will sack her, or you will marry her off. Otherwise I may have to take my own actions to remedy the situation.”

Tommy’s heart caught in his throat. “Excuse me?” 

“I would think very hard about Miss. Winters’s future, if I were you.”

It took every ounce of self restraint that he had not to fly from his seat, grab Mosley by his fucking mustache, and shove him face-first into the fire still burning in the hearth.  

If he so much as laid a fucking finger on her…

He forced himself to breathe deeply. He couldn’t be flying off the handle. Not here. Not now. He needed to remain controlled in how he dealt with Mosley. One wrong move, and it could all come crashing down. Mosley had too many powerful friends and allies. If he took him out in a way that could be traced back to them, there would be absolute hell to pay. The entire family would be in immense danger. 

All he needed was time. With this cheque linking Mosley to McCavern, maybe Younger could do something. It wouldn’t be long before they got Mosley stripped out of power. Lucy would be safe.

“I’ll consider what you’ve said, Mr. Mosley.” The words tasted like ash in his mouth, but he forced them out anyway. He didn’t mean any of it, of course. Lucy was staying by his side. She wasn’t leaving his employment. And he sure as shit wasn’t going to force her to marry some fascist prick who was practically guaranteed to mistreat her. 

“Good.” Seemingly satisfied, Mosley stood. 

The moment that the door to the office slammed shut behind him, Tommy sat up, downing his glass of whiskey, and then after a small moment of contemplation, grabbed Mosley’s untouched glass and gulped that one down as well. Both out of a need to calm his nerves and out of spite regarding Mosley’s previous comment about him needing to drink less. 

Deep in his bones, he knew that Younger may very well not be able to do much to help them with Mosley. And even if he did, those wheels turned so slowly, it may be too late by the time he was. 

And even if Mosley was stripped of his positions, even if he was thrown in the darkest of prison cells, he still had powerful friends. He would always be a threat.

There was only one way Tommy would ever be able to guarantee their safety from him. 

Mosley was going to have to fucking die. 

He groaned, not feeling much better even with the whiskey in his system. A glance out the window greeted him with the guests beginning to meander away towards the cars lined up to take them home, Lizzie smiling whilst shaking hands and chattering with them as they bid their goodbyes. He sighed, already preparing himself for the argument that they would have once everyone left over what she had said to Lucy.

Part of him wanted to scream at her for being so cruel, particularly when considering just how much Lucy had already given up for her. But the rest of him just felt guilty. Things had been better at the house as of late. Lizzie was more bearable to be around. Happier and less likely to pick fights with him. Yet he couldn’t shake the resentment that had bubbled up since Lucy’s departure. That all it had taken to make Lizzie happy had apparently been him losing one of the people he loved most in the world.

Not that he and Lucy were broken up, technically. Though it certainly felt like it most of the time. She was still avoiding him as much as was possible considering that they spent nearly the entire workday together. And those big brown eyes were so damn sad every time he looked into them that he wanted to just fall to his knees, wrap his arms around her and beg her to tell him what he could do to make it all better.   

And yet he had to acknowledge his own responsibility in this whole mess. He was the one who continued to give Lizzie hope all these years that he would eventually love her back in the way that she wanted. Half hearted attempts at affection, at playing the role of a loving husband that had accomplished nothing but leading her on. Moments like tonight, when he had dragged her away to fuck while their guests had begun arriving and then expressed his protectiveness over her in regards to Mosley. 

 It wasn’t his intention for it to come across that way. He just wanted her to know that she was still valued. Still an important figure in his life even if he wasn’t in love with her.   

There had been some hope, after what she had said to him when they had made their deal, about balancing her head with her heart, that Lizzie was finally beginning to make peace with their arrangement. For a while, that had seemed to be the case. 

Rubbing his eyes in an attempt to nurse the headache forming behind them, he walked out of the office and down the hall. There was the hum of a voice, his head turning and brows furrowing. He followed it to a half open door into a sitting room where he found Lucy, sitting in an armchair by the window and scratching Asher behind the ear while she spoke soft nonsense to him. 

Her eyes flickered up at the creak of the floorboards beneath his shoes.

“Hey,” he said softly.

“Hi.”

Asher padded up to him, tail wagging as he silently demanded attention. Tommy stroked a hand over his soft head. Lucy stood from the chair, arms crossed almost defensively across her chest. His eyes landed for a moment at the bare spot just below her collarbone, where the garnet that he had given her years ago usually sat. It would be lying to say that its absence on her tonight didn’t sting.

But still the dress that she was wearing was quite lovely. Black and sleeveless, belted around the waist to show off the way that her waist dipped in and her hips curved out. It hugged her chest and hips wonderfully, just low cut enough to be teasing. Had the situation been different, he would have been all over her the second they were alone, running his hands over the soft fabric and groaning at the warmth of her body beneath it.

Instead he just coughed awkwardly. “You look nice.”

Lucy tucked a stray lock of hair behind her ear, smiling sheepishly. “Thanks.”

Meeting her eyes filled him with alarm at the sight of subtle puffiness there. She had been crying. And while she had done a good job of hiding it, he knew her too well, too intimately, to not notice it. He took a step forward, took note of the way that she tensed slightly, and stopped.

“Are you okay?”

“Mhm. Just tired.”

He cleared his throat, pulling a cigarette from his case and handing her one. “About before,” he lit both their cigarettes. “I’m sorry, for making you deal with Mosley on your own.”

“It’s fine,” she shook her head, pressing the cigarette to her lips. Tommy’s eyes narrowed. His mind had come up with all sorts of horrible scenarios for what could have happened to leave Lucy in such a panicked state during the time that she and Mosley had been alone. Most of them made him nearly sick to his stomach to even think about. All of them made him want to march upstairs to Mosley’s room and rip him to shreds with his bare hands.

“If he did fucking anything to you-”

“He didn’t…do anything to me, Tommy. I’m fine. I overreacted.”

“Lucy…” 

“Look, he tugged on a lock of my hair and made a lewd remark. That’s it,” her foot tapped anxiously against the floor, eyes darting away. “You think that I wouldn’t love to give you an excuse to have that man shredded to ribbons?”

The frown remained on Tommy’s face. “What do you think it was that set you off, then?” 

She took a long drag from her cigarette to avoid answering. “I don’t know,” she looked out the window, at the cars moving away down the long driveway. The workers from the ballet company were busy taking down the stage and tent on the lawn. “I suppose…he reminds me of Matthew, sometimes,” she admitted. “Maybe it’s the way he talks, or the way he looks at people,” she shrugged. “I don’t know.”

It had been a long time since either of them had talked about her ex-fiancé. Or what he had done to her. 

Tommy shifted closer to her. He very badly wanted to touch her, but he wasn’t sure if that would be alright with her right now. “Sweetheart…”

“I’m alright,” she insisted. His gaze hardened.

“I won’t let him hurt you.”

“I know.”

His head tilted. “You could stay tonight. Your room’s just as you left it.” He wouldn’t let any of the maids touch it. Frances was allowed in to clean, and that was it. Some nights, when he and Lizzie could barely stand to be in the same room as each other, he would go to Lucy’s old room at the other end of the house from his wife. Curling into the bed, he’d press his face to the pillow, eyes closed as he drew in the lingering scent of her soap and perfume. If he was drunk enough, or high off the opium, he could almost pretend that she was still there with him. 

“I don’t think…”

“Lucy, we’re all tired. Polly’s staying and my drivers are all busy transporting guests. Just stay. It’s alright.”

She sighed, shoulders slumping, all fight having left her thanks to the exhaustion that the evening had brought. “Okay.”

She followed him out of the sitting room and towards the stairs. On the way there he paused, inching open the door to the dining room and chancing a quick glance in. Lucy peeked in over his shoulder. Linda was still asleep on the table, Arthur hunched over her, cradling her hand. Tommy silently leaned back and shut the door again. 

“What a fucking mess,” he sighed. They began to climb the stairs. For a moment his eyes landed on the huge portrait of Grace that loomed over them on the wall. He could have sworn that her eyes followed him as he moved.

“What do you think will happen?” 

At the top of the stairs he stopped, turning to look at her and shaking his head. “I don’t know.” He looked her up and down again, suddenly incredibly wistful for the time before everything had gone to utter hell. He could hold her tight in his arms. Push her up against the wall as he kissed her. Shove the skirt of that stunning dress up and-

There really was no point in thinking about it, though. Outside of just making himself frustrated.

Instead, he reached a hand out to cup her cheek, but she pulled away, shaking her head. Tommy wanted to scream or cry out. Not at her, but just in frustration. 

���No.”

“Luce, please,” he whispered. He just wanted to kiss her good-night. That wasn’t breaking any rules. The rejection burned in his chest, hurting even more than when she had flinched away from him earlier or when he noticed that she wasn’t wearing her garnet.

Her fingers brushed across his face, barely there. “Good-night, Tommy.” 

“Good-night, love,” he said dejectedly. He watched her round the corner towards her room, Asher padding along beside her. Hands shoved into his pockets, Tommy frowned, feeling his face crumple for the briefest of moments before he schooled it back into place. Eyes darting back towards the staircase, he found Grace’s portrait staring at him, her blue eyes accusing and stern.

With a sigh he turned, and walked down the long hallway towards his room. 

∗ ∗ ∗

Asher’s side bumped against her legs every once in a while as they walked through the winding halls of Arrow House towards her room. She was thankful for the dog’s watchful, grounding presence by her side as he trotted along next to her. The hum of voices up ahead made her pause, stride slowing as she rounded the corner cautiously only to be greeted with the sight of Mosley and Lizzie. 

Lizzie’s eyes were wide, almost frightened, while Mosley was shooting her a rather unsettling smirk. His shirt was open and unbuttoned, his hair mussed. 

“Lizzie?”

The dark haired woman turned, a look of relief crossing her face at the sight of Lucy and Asher. Lucy moved forward quickly, settling a hand on Lizzie’s arm.

“Miss. Winters,” Mosley smiled. “Well, if Mrs. Shelby is uninterested in my invitation, perhaps you would like to join myself and the ballerina?”

She managed to somehow smile through the feeling of her skin crawling at his suggestion. “I’m afraid that I don’t enjoy being second choice, Mr. Mosley,” she said. At her side, Asher let out a thunderous growl, lips curling back from his teeth as he eyed Mosley. Lucy settled a hand on the top of his head to soothe him. Mosley raised an eyebrow.

“Lovely dog.”

“Apologies. He was trained originally as a guard dog. Unfamiliar faces in the hallways at night make him nervous,” she explained. “Now, if you don’t mind, I need to steal away Mrs. Shelby,” she was already tugging Lizzie away and down the hallway with Asher in tow before he could even respond. As soon as they rounded the corner and it became clear Mosley wasn’t following them, she let out a relieved breath. “Are you alright?”

Lizzie shrugged. “Outside of wanting to vomit? I’m fine.”

“Some birthday, huh?”

“It wasn’t all bad,” Lizzie sighed. “Thanks for the save.”

“Of course. Now listen, go to your room and stay there. Don’t come out until the morning, alright? Just in case.”

“What about you?” 

She let go of Lizzie’s arm once they reached the end of the hallway that led to the master bedroom. She gave a little pat to Asher’s head.

“I got my back-up right here.” She snorted when she looked down to see Asher glancing between the two of them, tail wagging. Gone was the fearsome guard dog he had been a moment ago, replaced by her sweet puppy who just wanted to be pet and fed treats. She looked back up at Lizzie. “I’ll see you in the morning. And happy birthday.”

Lizzie looked down at her feet. “Thank you.” Lucy turned to leave. “Lucy?”

She turned back, eyebrow raised curiously. Lizzie opened her mouth, closed it again and sighed.

“I’m sorry. For what I said before Mosley’s speech,” she wouldn’t quite meet Lucy’s eyes.

Lucy’s brow furrowed, though her lips pulled up in a sad smile. The only type of smile she seemed to be able to offer anyone these days. “Don’t worry about it.”

Lizzie’s eyes darted to fixate on one of the paintings on the wall. “Okay, then. Good-night.”

“Good-night, Lizzie.”

She waited at the end of the hallway until Lizzie was safely walking through her bedroom door before turning away and heading back down the hallway.  

Upon opening the door to her old bedroom she was greeted with a room that truly had not been changed at all. She didn’t know why she was so surprised. Tommy wouldn’t let anyone touch Grace’s room or her things outside of cleaning it, she supposed that it made sense that he would extend the same sentiment to her.

Trouble was curled up on the bed. When she saw her, she let out a little meow of excitement, standing and running over to her. Lucy reached down to stroke her back while the cat rubbed against her ankles, meowing loudly over and over again. Almost as if she were scolding her. 

“I know. I know, baby. I’m sorry. It’s good to see you again.”

With a sigh she sat down heavily on the bed, pulling off her shoes and massaging her feet and ankles to quell the ache from wearing heels for so long. It took a bit of contorting to wriggle her way out of her dress, hanging it up in the wardrobe. Opening a drawer in her dresser revealed her old negligees that she hadn’t thought to pack with her when she left for Charlie’s. Shrugging one on, she collapsed backwards into the bed, eyes fixed on the ceiling. She patted the space next to her, encouraging Asher and Trouble to hop up and lay down beside her.

She felt terrible for rejecting Tommy like that at the top of the stairs, but she had to. Considering Lizzie’s response to him just touching her arm, she could only imagine what would happen should she have rounded the corner and caught Tommy caressing or kissing her. And there was a fear that should she allow him to touch her like she so wanted him to, they would both break.

She felt the air around her shift and change, glancing lazily to the chair by the window and the figure lounging in it. Grace looked back at her with a worried expression. With a sigh, Lucy closed her eyes, head tilting back against the pillows. 

“I don’t want to say that I told you so…” 

She heard rustling as Grace got up and moved to sit on the edge of the bed. 

“What do you mean?”

Asher moved so that his huge head was resting on Lucy’s stomach. She stroked a hand mindlessly through his thick black fur.

“Everyone’s happier when I’m not here.”

Grace groaned rather overdramatically. “I think that we need to have a talk about your self esteem issues.”

“You saw how she reacted to him just touching me, Grace,” she picked at a flaky piece of nail polish on her right index finger. “They were doing fine until that. Then I show up and…” she trailed off, shrugging her shoulders. Grace looked at her, eyes narrowed, leaning forward.

“So, what’s your plan, then? Hm?” She raised her brows in question. “You’re just going to keep on avoiding Tommy, dodging Lizzie, and being miserable and lonely?” Her pale fingers drummed against the mattress. Lucy focused her eyes on the dog snoozing in her lap. “Or are you going to leave Tommy completely, Lucy? End your relationship even though you don’t want to. Is that it?”

“N-no,” she said in a weak voice.

“Really? Because it looks to me like you already are behaving like you have. You won’t even talk to Tommy about any of this. At least he still seems to be trying. You’ve just given up.” A cold hand grabbed her by the chin, forcing her with a gasp to look up at Grace, blue eyes accusing. “You promised him that you two could still be together even though you were leaving Arrow House. But are you? Because you certainly aren’t acting like it.”

“Stop,” she pleaded softly. Her head was pounding. Grace’s grip on her tightened.

“He loves you. If you keep carrying on like this, you’re going to break his heart. If you haven’t already.”

Lucy sniffled, more tears building behind her eyes. “He’ll be just fine without me,” she whispered. “They all will.”

Grace stared down at her, eyes searching. Her hand dropped away from her chin. “When did you become so blind?” she asked, voice no longer accusing, instead merely soft and sorrowful. Lucy looked away, shifting so that she was laying on her side, back to Grace with her tear stained cheek resting on the pillow. She could just barely detect the lingering traces of Tommy’s cologne from his empty side of the bed. 

A moment later, the bed dipped, and the ghost curled around her, front to her back, and Lucy swore she could feel the sensation of arms around her. Smell the sweetness of her perfume. Feel the tickle of her golden locks against her neck.

“He doesn’t want me anymore, anyway,” she whispered after a moment’s silence.

“He just tried to kiss you at the top of the stairs–”

“Because he feels guilty. He thinks he owes me something because of how long we were together. Or because he made all those promises to me when he and Lizzie first got married about never letting us get pulled apart.” A sob spasmed through her chest. The idea of Tommy just keeping her around out of pity when he would have been happier with her gone was unbearable.

“Lucy, you have to stop this. I know you feel guilty because you think that you’ve been taking him away from Lizzie, but you know that you can’t be happy without him. So you have to let the guilt about Lizzie go, sweetheart. Let yourself be happy. What’s done is done. And it’s not all your fault anyway. Lizzie made her own decisions that got her into this. She’s a big girl. If she really can’t handle it, she knows where the door is. You have to let the guilt go, honey. Before it kills you. You can’t keep on hurting yourself like this. You’ve been self flagellating over it for years. I think you’ve more than paid the price for what you think you’ve done.”

Lucy just started crying harder. 

“I can’t come back. He chose her over me, Grace. We can never go back to a time where that didn’t happen. Even if I move back in, we can never be together here.”

“If the three of you could all just sit down and talk about it, maybe you could come to a compromise…”

“I can’t ask Lizzie to give up her rules after I spent years fucking her husband even when I knew she wasn’t alright with it. I can’t fucking do it, Grace.”

Grace was quiet for a long moment after that. “Please talk to Tommy about all of it, sweetheart. Please. He’ll help you. You know he will. He wouldn’t want you to keep on hurting yourself like this.” 

Lucy let out another heaving sob, pressing her tear-stained cheeks to the pillow. One thought was circling through her head, repeating over and over, drowning out Grace’s attempted words of reason:

Nobody loves me. 

∗ ∗ ∗

“I still want things that feel nice.” Tommy said it as little more than a whisper, his arms wrapping around Lizzie’s middle, laying his head on her stomach. For a moment, she rested her own arms around him.

“You mean like Lucy?” she said finally, voice stern and bitter. Tommy sighed, letting her go, trying not to wince at the name. The sting of Lucy’s most recent rejection of him was still fresh, his pride almost as wounded as his heart.

“Lizzie. Please. Not now.”  Speaking was hard. Maybe because he was exhausted, or because he was well on his way to being very, very drunk. 

She pulled away from him, stalking to the window, arms crossed over her chest. 

“What you said to her earlier…that was cruel, Lizzie.”

“I know,” she turned back to look at him. “Before you yell at me about it, I’ve already apologized.”

He pressed his cigarette between his lips. “You can’t keep doing shit like that.”

She scoffed and looked away again. Tommy’s eyes narrowed.

“I’m not going to leave Lucy. It’s not going to happen. She’s a part of my life. You have to find some way to live with that.”

“I know,” her eyes blazed with familiar bitter resentment as she scowled. “But I’m your wife. I’m the mother of your child. Why does she get to be more important than that?”

“You knew the arrangement that you signed up for when you agreed to marry me. You’re unhappy with it now? That’s on you. We never mislead you on what this marriage would look like. And yet it’s Lucy who’s getting punished for your inability to handle the situation.” He shot her a stern look, the same one he gave when giving orders to the Blinders. “You will never speak to her like that again. I mean it. I’m done with tolerating the little jabs and temper tantrums. I’ve allowed you to continue making them for far too long already. If you can’t at least be nice to her, you leave her the fuck alone.” 

“You think that I don’t feel like shit about it already, Tom? With Lucy, I just say things. And then they can’t be unsaid,” she tried to explain. Tommy raised an eyebrow. She closed her eyes. 

“I thought that things were getting better,” Tommy sighed, dejectedly, suddenly feeling incredibly helpless. “Before the crash and everything happened. I thought…that you were beginning to accept it all.”

Lizzie kicked off her shoes, leaving them in a little heap on the floor. She leaned back with her arms wrapped around herself. “It’s hard for me to see you with her.”

“I understand that, Lizzie, but…Jesus, what more do you fucking want from her?” He stood, pacing the room, suddenly angry. “We’ve been following all of your fucking rules. Lucy left to ensure that. And you’re still not happy,” he stopped in the middle of the room, pointing his cigarette at her. “But let’s be honest, eh? You won’t ever truly be happy unless she is gone from my life completely. And like I said, that isn’t fucking happening. I won’t allow it. We’ve already given up so much for you and still you keep demanding more. It’s never enough. And it never will be.” He closed his eyes, breathing hard. “Because I can’t give you what you want, Lizzie. Alright? I’m sorry. But I can’t. You need to find a way to accept that.” 

“I’m trying, Tommy,” she sat down in the chair at the vanity that he had been previously occupying. He was taken aback at how resigned she sounded. He’d expected her to fight him like she normally did. Instead she fiddled with reorganizing a few objects on the vanity. “I just wish…” she trailed off, biting her lip.

“Just wish that I could change, eh?” Tommy said, sighing. It was something he had grown used to; the people around him wishing that he could just change. Become a good man, or at least a better man than what he was. Get rid of all the bad. His shoulders slumped.

Lucy was the only one who had never made him feel like that. Not once had she acted like she’d ever wanted him to change. She loved him just the way that he was.

And then he’d gone and hurt her. Had all but destroyed his relationship with the only person in the world who had ever truly loved him unconditionally.

Lizzie shot him a sad, disappointed look. He shrugged. Like it didn’t hurt.   

 “You think that you’re the only one who misses her?” Lizzie asked, eyes thoughtful. Tommy raised an eyebrow, surprised. “She was my friend, Tom. I didn’t even realize…how used to having her around I had become. It’s very annoying. I never wanted to like her.” Lucy was good at that; at sneaking her way into a person’s heart without them even realizing. “It’s not like I said that she had to leave. Or that you two can’t be together. I just…” she trailed off, shoulders slumping. Tommy felt like the absolute worst scum on the earth. “I don’t know. I thought if I didn’t have to see you with her here, in our house, with our children, it wouldn’t hurt as much.”

“You’ve boxed us in,” Tommy explained as gently as he could. “Not in the house is one thing, but you said that I also can’t touch Ruby within a day on either side.” 

“I wanted to protect her. She shouldn’t think that the arrangement that the three of us have is how all adult relationships should be like–”

“Don’t act like by bringing Ruby into that agreement that you weren’t effectively forcing me to choose between my lover and my daughter.” His temper flared momentarily, and at the sight of Lizzie’s widening eyes, he immediately tried to reign it in. 

“I only said just by the hand,” she corrected softly.

He leaned his head back against the wall, taking a very long drag of his cigarette. “That means we have to practically schedule sex around the days that I’m not coming home in the evening.” Days that had become fewer and fewer in between, as he tried hard to be home at night as often as was possible. “Takes the romance out of things a fair bit. And how am I to explain to my daughter that I can’t hold her hand because I was with Lucy the night before? Not that it matters,” he looked up at the ceiling, as if the answers were stored up there somewhere. “Now Lucy won’t let me touch her at all.”

Lizzie stared at him for a long, long time. Behind her eyes, he saw something shift. A resolution happening. A decision finally being made.  

“The original rules stay in place for anyone else,” she said finally. Tommy’s head snapped in her direction, eyes widening.

“What?”

“I suppose…” Lizzie bit her lip, considering. “I suppose that with just Lucy, it would be okay.”

He raised an eyebrow, startled at the sudden offer of compromise. “Are you sure?”

She nodded slowly. “I miss her too, you know. More than I ever thought I would. And the kids keep asking after her. And she’s known and helped take care of Ruby for her whole life. I know that she loves her.” She shot him a stern look. “But only with Lucy. The rules still apply with anyone else. You don’t fuck anyone else in this house or within a day on either side of holding our daughter by the hand.”

“That is a very strange, specific hang-up that you have, you know.”

“You want the compromise or not?”

“Thank you. Really.”

“Mhm,” the side of one of Lizzie’s lips curled up. She tapped her nail against the wood of the vanity. “Why did you marry me, Tommy?”

He couldn’t look at her. “You know why.”

“I need to hear you say it. It might…help me.”

He forced himself to meet her eyes. “Because I had to. Because I got you pregnant. I wanted to make sure that you and Ruby were taken care of,” he shifted, coughing. “And I needed a wife to strengthen my political standing.”

Lizzie cleared her throat, likely to try to keep herself from crying. He really was awful. Unable to do anything but hurt the people he cared about.

“Do you love me?”

“I…” he looked down. It felt too cruel, to say it out loud to her face that he didn’t love her. “I care about you. You’re important to me. I want you to be safe and looked after. Yes,” he said finally. “Yes. I love you,” he didn’t add that he loved her like he did the rest of his family. But not like he loved Lucy. Not like he had loved Grace.

“But are you in love with me, Tommy?” Apparently he wasn’t going to get off that easily. He took in a deep, shaky breath, forcing himself to look her in the eye.

“No.”

To her credit, Lizzie never once broke eye contact with him, even though he could see the pain in her eyes. But there was something else in there too. Something like resignation. Maybe even acceptance. She shrugged her shoulders. “And there it is.”

 He walked over to her, crouching down to touch the hands she had settled in her lap.

“I’m sorry,” he said, offering as much genuine feeling as he could into the apology. “For all of it.”

Lizzie squeezed his hands tightly. “Me too.”

He looked down, letting his head sag forward until it was resting on her shoulder. Lizzie reached up, patting him gently on the back.

“It’ll be alright, Tom.”

He nodded, and tried his hardest to believe her.

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[wonderlanddreamer]

The Rook

— Chapter One

Summary: Reeling from a recent loss and seeing no light at the end of the tunnel, Tommy drives with no end in sight. But what happens when he accidentally happens upon a quiet little pub and a barmaid with a smile like sunshine?

The biting wind whipped at Tommy Shelby’s coat, offering little protection against the icy despair that gnawed at his soul. Birmingham, usually a city pulsating with his ambition, felt suffocating. The weight of his decisions, the ghosts of his past, pressed down with the force of a collapsing mine shaft. He’d stared into the abyss, and it had stared back, promising oblivion – a welcome respite from the ceaseless turmoil.

He’d almost taken it. Almost yielded to the seductive whisper of darkness. The pistol, cold and heavy in his pocket, was a dreary reminder of how close he’d come. He’d driven aimlessly until the city lights faded, replaced by the inky blackness of the countryside.

Then, a single, flickering light emerged – a small, unassuming pub nestled beside a winding road. Its sign, barely visible in the gloom, read: The Rook. Curiosity, or perhaps a perverse instinct for self-preservation, compelled him to stop.

The building was low-slung and weathered, its stone walls stained by time. Mismatched window panes, steamed with condensation, hinted at warmth within, a contrast to the chill that permeated his bones. He hesitated, his hand instinctively resting on the pistol. The thought of seeking solace, of finding even a fleeting moment of peace, felt anomalous.

But bone-deep weariness, the crushing weight of his burdens, finally won. He pushed open the heavy oak door, the bell above it jingling a discordant welcome. The air inside was thick with the scent of stale beer, wood smoke, and something else… something indefinitely comforting.

A single barmaid, wiping down the counter with an expert hand, looked up. Rosemary King, with warm brown eyes and a kind smile that crinkled the corners of her eyes, her name was embroidered on her apron in faded script. The bar itself was a rich, dark wood, polished to a high sheen, but cluttered with personal touches – a small vase of wildflowers, a framed sepia photograph weighted down by a miniature porcelain cat. Everything felt carefully tended, cherished, and loved.

The pub itself was small, cosy, radiating warmth and a sense of belonging. Mismatched chairs, some worn leather, others sturdy wood, were grouped around small, round tables, each bearing a unique chipped teacup or a faded photograph tucked into a cracked frame. The walls, painted a comforting cream, were adorned with family portraits – generations of smiling faces peering down from faded frames, a tapestry of lives lived and loved within these walls. A grandfather clock in the corner, its pendulum swinging rhythmically, ticked away the seconds. The scent wasn't just of woodsmoke and damp earth; a hint of baking bread and something sweet, perhaps apple pie, also lingered, enhancing the homely atmosphere. It felt less like a public house and more like a haven; a family's carefully kept secret.

Tommy pulled up a stool at the bar, the worn leather surprisingly soft beneath him, and stared straight forwards. He didn’t order anything, just sat, lost in the shadowy depths of his own thoughts, the warmth of the fire a meagre counterpoint to the storm raging within him.

“Evening,” the barmaid greeted, her voice as welcoming as her smile. “What can I get for you?”

“Whiskey. Neat,” Tommy replied gruffly, his tone sharper than intended. He wasn’t here for pleasantries.

She didn’t flinch at his brusqueness. Instead, she nodded and turned to retrieve a glass, her movements graceful and unhurried. “Coming right up,” she said, pouring the amber liquid with an expert hand. As she slid the glass towards him, she added, “Not many find their way to The Rook. You must be looking for some solace.”

Her perceptiveness startled Tommy. It was as if she saw right through the hardened exterior he wore like armour. “Something like that,” he muttered, taking a sip of the whiskey. It burned, but it was a welcome sensation—a reminder that he was still here, still feeling, despite the darkness that lingered at the edges of his mind.

Rosemary leaned against the bar, her demeanour open and unassuming, exuding a warmth that seemed to soften the sharp edges of the world. “Well, you’ve come to the right place. We’re not much for noise around here.”

For reasons he couldn’t quite grasp, Tommy found himself unwinding, if only slightly. Her presence was soothing, a gentle balm on his troubled mind. She seemed to offer a refuge, however temporary, from the turmoil within. “You been here long?” he asked, more to keep the conversation going than out of genuine curiosity.

“Long enough to know the regulars and their stories,” she replied with a soft laugh. “But you’re new. What’s your story?”

He looked at her, really looked at her, and saw no judgement in her gaze—only an earnest interest that was both unnerving and oddly comforting. In her eyes, he saw a flicker of understanding, as if she recognized the weight he carried. “Just passing through,” he said, deflecting, as was his habit.

“Well, Mr. Passing Through, I hope you find whatever it is you’re looking for,” Rosemary said, a hint of playfulness in her tone. There was no pressure in her words, only a gentle encouragement, as if she truly wished for his peace. She straightened up and moved to attend to another customer, leaving Tommy alone with his thoughts and the unexpected warmth of her smile lingering in the air.

He sat for a long while, nursing his whiskey, the silence of The Rook a balm to his turbulent thoughts. Rosemary had checked on him twice, her kind smile a silent reassurance. He hadn't spoken much, but her presence, her quiet efficiency, had woven a thread of calm through the chaos within him. He couldn't articulate why, only that the pub's warmth had invaded him, a welcome intrusion he knew he'd need regularly.

He pushed himself up from his chair, the worn leather creaking a soft protest. He felt…lighter. The weight hadn’t vanished entirely, the ghosts of his past still whispered, but their voices were muted, dulled by the warmth he’d found within those four walls. The pistol, still heavy in his pocket, felt less like a solution and more like a forgotten burden.

He approached the bar, and Rosemary looked up, her brown eyes questioning. He gave a small, almost imperceptible nod, the gesture acknowledging her unspoken kindness. He placed a couple of shillings on the counter, more than the drink cost.

"Thank you," he rasped, his voice rough from disuse.

Rosemary smiled, a genuine, heartfelt smile that effortlessly reached her eyes. "Anytime."

Tommy stepped back out into the night, the cold air no longer biting, but bracing. The city lights in the distance no longer felt suffocating, but beckoned. He walked to his car, the decision to go home solidifying with each step. The Rook, and the unexpected peace he’d found there, had given him the strength he so desperately needed. He wasn't cured, not by a long shot, but the abyss had receded, at least for now, replaced by a faint, flickering hope. The drive home was quiet, the night a canvas of unshed shadows. He would face his problems; for tonight, home was enough.

[call-sign-shark]

Heaven in Your Eyes || Tommy Shelby x You

Summary: For safety purpose and following Arthur's death, you are forced to live under your enemy and unforgiving brother-in-law's roof. It's only you and Tommy between the dreadful walls of Arrow house where grief, hatred, and attraction blend.

some musical background to read + the song that inspired it.

Words: 6.5k

TW: angst, rocky dynamic, pinning, sexual tension, graphic description of violence, strangulation, very very strong sexual innuendos, mention of blood, murder and grief, alteration of canon events + time.

Notes:

✞ Heaven in Your Eyes is an Arthur Shelby story but considering what happens to him in this part of S4, this chapter and the next one will be entirely focused on Reader/Heaven's relationship with Tommy.

✞ This is chapter 17 of the Arthur Shelby x You series Heaven in Your Eyes. Each chapter can be read as stand-alone.

PREVIOUS || Masterlist || NEXT PART

Your pale aquamarine eyes opened to an unfamiliar ceiling, far too different from the ceiling of your house in Watery Lane. The soft glow of morning light filtered through the dark and heavy curtains of the guest bedroom that was bathed in warm shadows. The bedding was too smooth, giving you the unpleasant impression that the mattress was slowly but surely swallowing you whole. As for the room itself, it was too silent, with no trace of the reassuring sounds or smells of your own home, like the floral fragrance of the lily of the valley perfume Arthur sprayed on your pillow each night before sleeping, fully aware that it reminded you of your mother.

A little cry escaped your lips when you turned your head towards the half-hidden window; its blinding light making your head throbbed painfully. You tried to move but your whole body ached, like a cruel and dull echo of the chaos that had ripped your world apart the night before. The chaos who took Arthur, your sweet Arthur, from you.

 Arthur.  With your heart pounding in your chest to the rhythm of invisible drums, you sat up – certainly a bit too violently. As the room spun around you, you clawed the fabric of the blanket not to fall back on the bed. Breathe, Hev. Just breathe, you told yourself. Exhaling slowly through your nostrils, you waited a bit until the dizziness and nausea became bearable and only then did you proceed to scan your surroundings. The place you had woken up in was a spacious bedroom, impeccably furnished yet so sparsely decorated that it ended up cold and impersonal. Just like a furniture store. But despite the unfamiliar setting, the peculiar smell of wood and faint traces of cigarette smoke that lingered in the air rung a bell. You recognized the man who owned it immediately.

Arrow House?

Tommy.

The memories violently surged back. The images of Arthur’s blood, the frenzied struggled to save him, the stabbing of a first Italian, then the murder of another, all of this leading to the moment you had lost consciousness. What the hell happened after? Why were you in Arrow House? Where was Arthur? Questions buzzed in your mind like a hive of furious hornets crashing against your skull. Through the fog, you thought you remembered Thomas’ low voice and arms wrapping you just before you fainted, but you weren’t sure – so came the necessity of finding out. Your sly hands shook as you scrambled out of the bed, even though the cold surface of the floor managed to ground you when your feet touched its polished wood.

You needed to find Tommy and ask for an explanation – or excavate that same explanation from him by using sheer strength and torture if you had to. Yes, you needed to know if Arthur made it. If he was safe, because he had to be safe after everything you did. He had to be safe, or else what would be left of you beside an empty shell? Wasting no time, you rushed out of the room like a fury without minding your poor state. In fact, your legs wobbled beneath your weight as you pushed the door open and made your way through the cool hallway, head spinning with disorientation. For sure, staying in bed would have been the best option but, as was the case that night you fled from your little town in the mountains, a combination of rage and panic controlled you. You braced yourself against the wall, your fingers curling into the wood and tapestry for balance. Each meters reached took a disproportionate amount of effort, each step felt unsteady. Your determination might be spotless, but your body betrayed as you swayed, to the extent that you careened into the wall with a dull thud from time to time. And when it weren’t the walls, it was the uneven carpet that made you almost trip. That damn corridor seemed endless, but the more you walked the sharper the scent of Tommy’s tobacco reached your senses and lifted the haze you were embedded in.

Little King Shelby was there.

That sole observation swept away the remnant of sickness you felt, your energy all regained as your steps, usually light and ethereal, echoed through the expensive house of Arrow house – a sumptuous mansion whose beauty only equaled its claustrophobic and maddening emptiness. The grand, austere décor loomed all around you in rich, dark wood paneling, chandeliers and old paintings staring from their frames. Ironically enough, it wasn’t the old and slightly obscure ones that made you feel uncomfortable, but rather Grace’s gigantic portrait. She was overhanging the house, her piercing blue eyes seemingly glistening in the sunlight and judging your every move.  Silently asking you what the hell you were doing in her home. A shiver ran down your spine, as if you could sense her presence, heavy and utterly sad, sipping through all the walls.  Arrow House might carry a distinct scent of polished wood and smoke, but beneath it lingered something as heavy as the Grace’s portrait – sorrow. It clung to the air like a haunting memory, subtle but inescapable, much like what Tommy himself hid under his expensive after-shave.

Finally, you reached the heavy double doors of Tommy’s office, your heart a relentless thud in your tight chest. Usually, little King Shelby despised being disturbed when he was in his study but you couldn’t care less considering the emergency of the situation – and you wouldn’t have cared in a more casual one. Without the slightest hesitation, you threw the doors open and your voice, already sharp, resounded in the room like a tigress’ roar.

“Where is he?” You demanded, as your pale iris, which were burning with Hell’s fire, surveyed the room until they found Tommy behind his desk.  His ice-cold stare met yours with a calm that only pushed you further to the edge of fury, “Where is Arthur?!”

The blue-eyed demon might have many flaws, but stupidity wasn’t one. He knew you would make a mess when you woke up so he had spent the last few hours patiently waiting for the chaos to storm, a glass of whiskey for sole companion to brace your thunder. He let out a sigh and reached for that same glass, which had remained untouched on his desk until now. After a sip, he leaned back on his chair, his eyes wandering on you as if he was calculating every possible outcome of your conversation.

Then only he spoke.

“Heaven, would you calm down ay?” He said with a smooth yet firm voice that carried an irking placidity. How could he be so serene after his brother got attacked and butchered? Was it the same Tommy who, overwhelmed with emotions you recalled, tried to help you last night? Or was he some kind of evil twin, who locked up his good brother somewhere in Arrow House most of the time?

“Don’t tell me to calm down!”  You snapped, walking toward him with your first clenched and stopping in front of his desk while he was still sitting, “After everything that happened last night, I wake up here and you think you can just sit there and act like this is normal? Tell me where Arthur is now.” You spat, your words like a winter blizzard.

Tommy stubbed his cigarette in the crystal ashtray that was on his deck before he stood, sky-blue eyes narrowed as he moved around slowly around the furniture. Your whole little body tense when he approached, his sole presence irking you.

“Arthur…” He started, his voice drawling, “Had to make a quick exit. We had to make him disappear for his own safety.”  His statement was heavy with the implications of danger and truth he didn’t wish to fully reveal. Tommy and his little secrets, you thought bitterly. Your jaw clenched, your icy eyes narrowing as you tried to swallow your burning fury in favor of a cold, quiet, anger.

“Disappear? Is he alive? Where is he?”

“I’m afraid I can’t give you any more information.”

The room fell silent, the weight of his words pressing on you. Was he serious? Momentarily stunned by the audacity of the Peaky Blinders’ boss, you blinked. He couldn’t be serious.

“And I’m just supposed to accept that dumb answer? After everything I went through trying to save him?”

Tommy moistened quickly his lips with the tip of his pink tongue, his face an unreadable mask. Still, you could see through it, and you knew he was searching for his words, “It’s not about accepting or not. We suggested the idea to him, and he agreed. Arthur made his choice – he’s lying low, and right now, that’s the best place for him.”

A slap across your face would have been less painful that what he was saying. Trembling with frustration, you shoved your fist into his chest. Tommy didn’t move nor show any hint of paint. If anything, he just let you lash out at him.

 “So what—you’re just hiding him? Keeping him locked away while I’m left in the dark?”

“I’m not hiding him. Not keeping him from you. He’s the one who decided to leave.”  

“You’re lying. That’s just another of your fucked up games.” You hissed, plump lips curling and revealing your sharp canine teeth you dreamt of sinking into your brother-in-law’s throat.

Arthur had left. Without saying anything. Without a fucking warning. Without a fucking 'hi, I'm alive love". You couldn't believe it.

Tommy shook his head, cold but resolute, “I’m not playing. There are people out there looking for him. And if they know you’re alone and vulnerable, those same people will come after you, too.”

Another blow to his chest. The charming gangster closed his eyes a few seconds and exhaled loudly through his nose to swallow the pain.

“Go fuck yourself! I’m going to find him and murder those bastards myself!”

When Tommy reopened his eyes, his large and warm hand grabbed your wrist suddenly in mid-action and kept you from punching his strong chest again.

“Do you think Arthur would want you to risk your life? Do you think I’d let you go on a rampage with my niece or nephew in your belly?”

Your breath suddenly caught, the mention of your pregnancy striking a far too sensitive nerve. With your eyes wide-opened in surprise, you studied Tommy with an expression of pure shock on your seraphic face. How could he possibly know about the baby?

“You nearly lost that kid,” Tommy’s intense gaze softened as he continued, his husky voice dropping lower and his grip loosening around your frail wrist.

“How?” You whispered, your lower lip trembling.

“Polly is not the only one who can sense things eh,” Apart from being gifted with animals, Tommy had a sensibility you had never expected. He had known about the baby the same day you had talked to him about keeping Arthur busy during their meeting. It was the way you touched your belly sometimes, the way you had acted more feral than usually – which he hadn’t thought possible, “But that’s not the point. If you leave, you’ll risk everything. Arthur wants you safe, and right now safe means staying here.”

The air between you grew thick with desperation and frustration. You gritted your teeth so harshly you wouldn’t have been surprised if they would all broken, but it was the only thing that helped you biting down the urge to scream.

“So, you’re telling me I have no other choice than stay?” Your voice wasn’t loud, but its defiance and hatred cut as deep as the razor blades he kept in his cap. To be fair, the fact he talked about the baby made you falter more than you’d wish to admit. Your shoulders slumped in reluctant defeat.

“Yes,” Tommy said simply, leaving no room for argument, “You stay here, under my roof, until this fucking mess is sorted out and until it’s safe for both you and the baby. I don’t expect you to like it, but you just have to accept that situation.”  He finally released your wrist in a surprisingly soft gesture – the fire of your fury had been so bright you had completely forgotten that Tommy had been holding you during your entire exchange. And now that he had stepped back, you realized that his touch had been grounding, and you found yourself missing it.

“It will be temporary, I promise.”  He added, heading back to his office to grab his whiskey and gulp it down. The glass chimed when he put it back on the wooden surface.

Your fruity lips pressed into a tight line, your gaze falling to the floor. That burning anger that had fueled you earlier felt dulled, swallowed by exhaustion and creeping darkness settling deep in within the marrow of your bones. As much as you wanted to fight, to demand answers and storm out of the cage Arrow House was, you knew deep down that Little King Shelby was right. The stakes were too high and your strength, for once, too fragile. This was with reluctance and resignation that you looked up to meet Tommy’s eyes.

“Fine,” You muttered, “But don’t think this means I trust you.”

“It wouldn’t have crossed my mind.”  Tommy made a little tilt with his head while raising one brow, “So you’ll stay ay?”

“Hm. But I’ll get the fuck out of here whenever it will be safer. ”

A little glint of something — approval? Satisfaction? — flickered briefly in his eyes, “As long as you respect the terms of this arrangement, that’s all that matters, Devil.”

With a final, deathly glance, you turned on your heels and left the room, feeling the burn of his scorching gaze on your back. Staying with him was an awful idea, but for now you had no choice but to play along.

To abide by the rules he would set.

The fire flickered low in Arrow House’s main yet darkened living room, the dancing flames casting their undulating shadows along the wooden walls. Wrapped in Arthur’s long coat, you sat curled up in the armchair closest to the fire in a vain attempt to warm your cold soul up. A glass of whiskey was in your small hands, barely tasted. There was exquisite alcohol here, at least. To be honest, you hadn’t planned on staying up this late but killing time here was better than tossing and turning in bed, feeling near suffocating at the sensation of the bedsheet around you. A little sigh escaped your plump lips, whose skin had been picked at until you had bled at the bottom right. Sleep had been quite elusive ever since Arthur’s death – or rather, absence. A deliberate absence that gnawed at you, leaving you restless and hollow the same way you did after the tragedy that took your family from you on a cold October night.  The same way it did when you had left your former fiancé.

Another chill ran down your spine as the events that brought you to Arthur and what followed played in your head like a broken record: you felt like only a few days had passed from your unexpected encounter in the church to the awful evening during which you had held your husband bloodied and limp body. And with the memories came an even more aching revelation: all the people around you always ended up dead or hurt in the end, whether you pulled the trigger or not.

At this moment you would have given everything just to switch your brain off and let someone handle the rest. Everything to be in Amos’ reassuring arms, his tender velvet voice whispering in your ear that everything was going to be fine.

A thought that occurred for the second time, the first appearing when you danced with Luca Changretta.

The door suddenly creaked, the darkness of Arrow House’s corridor subsiding as Tommy appeared in the orange light with an unlit cigarette between his fingers. His steps were heavy and his mesmerizing turquoise eyes slightly glazed. As was always the case when you breathed the same air as this asshole, your body tense entirely, every muscle ready to pounce on him and shred him to piece. However, you only raised your head, your pale eyes falling on his face. What you saw made you frown: he was well into a drink himself, judging by the loose expression he wore and the very faint flush on his salient cheekbones.

Despite being intoxicated, the sharpness in his gaze didn’t dull when he spotted you by the fire. If anything, it intensified.

Ah! It was still the same old and hateful Thomas Shelby you knew.

“Couldn’t stay in your room, could you?” You muttered, your tone soft but laced with a mix of sarcasm and intrigue as the man approached. Tommy didn’t answer though and sunk onto the couch opposite you.

“This is my house, remember?” He retorted, husky voice almost making the air rumble around him. A few days had passed since you argued in his office. A few days during which you mainly stayed locked up in the room, stubbornly sulking.

“And believe me, I’m counting down the hours until I can leave it,” He met his gaze when you finished speaking but, as surprising as it was, Tommy didn’t find defiance in your eyes. Only fatigue. For once, the insolent brat you usually were seemed too exhausted to bite. "I’d rather not be here, but we don’t always have the choice.” You had wanted to add that the choice was scarce when Tommy Shelby was around, but you didn’t. Not only would it be pointless, but you weren’t in the mood to fight.

A bitter laugh escaped his lips, “You’re right. Just like I didn’t have a choice when Arthur took you in, dragging all the trouble that followed,” He paused, attentively studying how your seraphic traits expressed your spitefulness at his words, then pointed at you with his finger “Thought you were above it all, didn’t you?”

“Above what?”

“Above everything. Untouchable. But here we are. Both haunted.”

Your grip tightened on your glass. So strongly you almost snapped it. “Don’t you dare blame me for what happened to him, Thomas. I know you’re used to do so but don’t fucking do it this time.” You warned.

Tommy’s blue eyes darkened as he looked away, shaking his head as if he had just remembered something awfully painful. The same thing that was plaguing your dreams: Arthur and his almost severed throat, “I don’t blame you for that – not for the attack nor for trying to save him.” He admitted. Wow, Tommy not blaming you for something was unexpected!

The gangster sighed and finally brought the cigarette to his mouth, rolling the filter onto his lower lip first before lighting it. Then, he threw the lighter on the small table near him and took a long drag. You carefully observed him all the while, afraid he would jump at your throat if you ought to lose your focus for one microsecond, “But it doesn’t change what came after, does it? You’ve done nothing but bring trouble to me. To all of us.”  He added with a hoarse voice, punctuating his sentence by blowing the smoke noisily. His voice didn’t carry the slightest aggressiveness though, only exhaustion. Yes, you were both drained by this fucking life.

Your jaw clenched, his word cutting deep. “I tried to save him with everything I had, Thomas. I’ve always tried to do my best for this family. Tried my best to make it work. But you –” You sneered, “You’re so determined to hate me that you won’t see it.”

Tommy snorted, the ghost of a desperate smile floated on his lips before it disappeared as quickly as it had appeared. The look in his eyes was hard as steel, unyielding, but utterly melancholic. “Save him? Yes, it’s true, but you think that changes a thing? He was better off with you from the start.”

Things were always like this with Tommy. Even though you told yourself that you weren’t going to give in to your anger, the blue-eyed demon always knew which buttons to push to annihilate your self-control. And even if you didn’t want to play his twisted game, you always ended up getting pulled in. Your heart pounded in your tight chest, anger sparking beneath grief and the pain. Driven by a furious rage only he could fuel, you stood up from the armchair, Arthur’s black coat falling on the floor as you moved. “You don’t get to stand there and act like you know what is best for him. You only know what’s convenient for you. It’s always about you, innit?”

Following your movement, Tommy also got up from the couch to face you, cigarette hanging from his mouth and icy turquoise eyes burning fiercely. “What do you think you know about about me? Or about Arthur, for that matter?”

“About Arthur? Everything. About you? More than I needed to know.”  Your body moved instinctively, taking a step closer to him in utter defiance. “You really think you’re that unfathomable, do you? You think that no one except Thomas Shelby can understand what’s happening in this twisted and scheming mind of him, right?  No, let me correct my mistake, even you cannot understand yourself.”  Trying to calm down sheer anger and the acid you were made of, you took a quick gulp of whisky from your glass before putting it on the table.  Once the glass left your mouth, your lips curled in a mean smirk.

“I know the man you are because my former fiancé was cut from the same cloth. An egocentric criminal with bulging ambition, a far too high sense of self esteem and a greed beyond words. A man who dragged his loved ones down with him without even realizing it. But Tom, you are a poison. And even with good intentions and genuine love, everything you touch ends up rotting. Just like you.”

And just like him.

Your voice sounded like an angelic lilt as you spoke, but there was something horrifying in its softness: a belittling tenderness that was only aimed at mocking and hurting.

Tommy’s jaw clenched, dimples digging in his already sharp cheeks. Bitter, he stubbed his cigarette against the couch’s armrest and threw it right onto the carpet, not minding the damage he just did. For fuck’s sake, he had enough money to buy a new one. Even a new mansion had he wanted to.The tension that was floating in the room became thicker, intoxicating, as your cutting remarks threw sparks into the gasoline of his soul. One could even wonder if the crackling sound of the fire really came from the hearth or if they were made by the flames of your hatred. 

The gangster didn’t reply, yet his eyes were locked with yours, speaking a silent challenge none of you was willing to back down from. He might have remained mute, but his body didn’t. All of sudden, he walked closer to you, reducing the distance step by step until he stood in front of you only from a few inches, fierce and unafraid. He was so close that you could feel the warmth of his bare chest radiating off him, gently warming up your frozen skin without even touching it. The musky scent of his after shave, worn off by the shower but still strong enough for you to catch its fragrances, mixed with his whiskey breath.

“You think I’m scared of you?” You whispered only for him to hear, light tremor of defiance in your voice. “Be careful Thomas, you know I could kill you right here right now.”  You spat, the warm fire reflecting its dim light against the pearly white enamel of your sharp canine teeth and making your ivory mane shine like moonlight.

“It’s Tommy.” He corrected. The way you kept using his full name was starting to get on his nerves, especially after how delicate his nickname had sounded, melting on your tongue like sugar, the day you threw yourself in his arms, mourning John. Crying real tears and not staged ones.

“No, it’s Thomas. You said it yourself years ago.”  You cut him, the name as sharp as the shards of a broken mirror, whose cracked surface reflected Tommy on one side, and your own being on the other, like two perfectly intricated parts of the same puzzle.

A short silence hovered above the room, sharing the space with the electric air as you glared at each other, waiting for the next unpredictable move the other could make.

The blue-eyed demon didn’t bother picking up your little taunt, but rather went on with what you said just before, “Kill me…” He repeated, leaning over you. His void pupils relished every trait of your doll face, “That’s what you want ay?”  Tommy’s voice was dark and daring, but it held a flicker of something different. Something more dangerous. As he spoke, his husky and hushed tone feeding the electric tension, you both stood locked in that heated moment, your breaths mingling in the space between you. Why were you realizing how close you were, both invading each other’s private space, only now? 

This time, Tommy’s expression shifted again and before you could react, he reached for you, his strong calloused hands wrapped around your wrists with a firm yet tender grip and pulled you even closer. “Do it”, he urged in a low growl as he guided your hands around his neck. “Show me how strong you really are without that evil magic of yours...”

Your heart raced, missing a vertiginous beat, as your sly fingers curled instinctively around the hard line of his throat. There was a thrill in the danger, a rush of adrenaline coursing through your veins when you felt the steady thump of his pulse under the soft pulp of your thumb, a reminder that Tommy Shelby was indeed a mortal man. Without control of any sort, your eyes fell on his throat, which was a striking canvas of both strength and vulnerability, the sinewy muscles taut beneath his smooth, pale skin. The very, very thin layer of sweat which covered him glistened under the dim light, attracting your attention even more on the angular lines of his jaw. Your breath stopped for a few seconds when you noticed how the coolness of his complexions contrasted sharply with the heat that was radiating off him.  Tommy Shelby was a walking paradox, as cold as ice, as hot as fire. Just like you.

With a surge of anger, you tightened your hold and let your nails dig into his skin. “You think this is a game?”

“Life ain’t nothing but a cruel game, Devil” he replied with a hitching breath and a light smirk dancing on his seductive lips as he leaned more into your grip. The gangster exuded something primal you couldn’t really describe. “You can’t tell me you don’t feel it too—the tension, the way we keep pushing each other.”

Your faces were now inches apart, heat pooling in your body and overwhelming you.

 “You’re insane,” you hissed, a tremor of uncertainty creeping into your voice despite your bravado. You had tried to hide it but it was vain and you knew it didn’t go unnoticed.

“And yet here we are,” he murmured, his growling voice turning into a whisper that sent shivers down your spine. A raspy lilt that made all fibers of your being vibrate like a piano’s strings during a symphony of chaos and desire. Caught off guards by the intensity of his gaze, your grip faltered just a moment before your thumb pressed a bit more on his windpipe. The noise his breath made as well as the way he sharply sucked in for air left no doubt on the power of your grip – you were slowly but surely squeezing the air out of him and, this time, you didn’t need any kind of magic to do so. It made the whole act even more exciting. Suffocatingly intense. 

At this point, you were convinced that the black-haired gangster, with his intoxicating smell of whiskey, cigarettes, leather and expensive after shave, would back up but he did quite the opposite. Leaning forwards, his lips brushed against your ear with a tenderness you didn’t suspect he possessed. Another shiver ran through you, and you hated him even more for enabling this reaction. “Harder…” He breathed, voice already muffled, “ Y—You want this as much as I—I do.”

In that moment, the storm of your usually muffled emotions collided. Rage, desire, fear, hatred, loneliness, doubts, lust, all intertwined with the numbing effect of alcohol, blurred the line between Tommy and you even further.

“Harder, like your former fiancé loved, right?”

“Fuck you.”

“Fuck me your – yourself ay.”

Lost in the intensity of everything, you felt the control slipping from your fingertip along with the will of fighting him. Tommy Shelby was sliding under your skin and the undeniable urge to give in was too much for you to resist. And somehow, you didn’t want to. What he made you feel was too similar to what you had lost after slashing Amos’ face and running away the day of your wedding.

This was why your grip suddenly tightened around him, your slow choking turning into the verge of deadly strangulation. In reply, Tommy let out a muffled moan. His strong hands, scarred by murder, grabbed your frail hips. So frail he felt like he could crush them easily and break you in half.

Your eyes maybe whole, But the story I'm told is your heart is as black as night.

As the room started to dangerously spin around him, the lack of oxygen building up gradually, the necessity of words faded away. Giving in, you leaned too and gently rubbed your cheek against your brother-in-law’s while still strangling him. Your lashes fluttered at the silky sensation of his perfectly shaved skin, your nerves sparkling with sensations at the lines of his sharp facial bones. His fire skin against the frost that constituted yours was ecstatic. Another little husky yet muffled moan echoed in the living room, his touch feeling as good as a shot of heroin and as brutal as getting crushed by a train. 

“Hev—” Tommy’s muscular body suddenly dropped to its knees, unable to hold his weight anymore.  At first you thought he would finally give up and admit he couldn’t take it anymore but the black-haired gangster didn’t. His rough hands didn’t leave your waist but rather pulled you closer, as if he couldn’t bear a single inch standing between you. The two turquoise gems that he called eyes locked onto yours — unfaltering and desperate. Tommy exhaled a shaky breath and surrendered himself fully to your touch. You wanted to kill him? So be it, he thought.

You swallowed the lump in your throat, fascinated for he looked so weak, so… willingly at your mercy that everything around you blurred, your focus only on him. Him and his freckles. Him and the too-perfect traits of his face from his adorable nose to his slightly chapped lips. Him and the sight of what you could be together.

Your lips maybe sweet such that I can't compete, But your heart is as black as night.

A far away cry resounded in the back of your head, pleading you to put a stop to this folly, but you were far too embedded in a primal trance to mind it. 

 Tommy’s head lowered until his cheek pressed against your belly, his arms snaking around your waist in an intimate, blazing embrace. And just like that it wasn’t a fight anymore; it was something else. The same thing you were both desperately pushing away for years — what fueled the vitriol of his hatred. For him and his twisted and tired mind, your deadly hands around his throat weren’t hurting him anymore, they were granting him a momentary relief from his untamable demons. The dirt couldn’t touch him here, your seraphic yet murderous aura keeping it from burying him alive. You strangled him, but he felt like he had never breathed this freely for a long, very long time. 

Soon the static hug turned into a sensual one, with Tommy softly rocking you in a way so soothing that you couldn’t help but bit your juicy lower lip. For a moment you both stayed like that, your body petrified and your hands still squeezing the air out of him while his scorching breath fanned over your belly when he moaned, sipping through the thin fabric of your silk nightgown. It was only after a while that all of Tommy’s energy fled from him. Now he hed had reached his limits. You felt the gangster waver, then he fell back onto the living room floor, dragging you along in his fall. You simply followed, letting him pull you on top to make you straddle him. A firework exploded into you when your hips collided together, your beings only separated by the thin layer of your lace thong and the fabric of his trousers. 

I don't know why it came along at such a perfect time, But if I let you hang around I'm bound to lose my mind.

Beneath you, Tommy’s body was entirely tensed, his breath hitching in difficulty, mouth gasping for air and a vein on his forehead pumping blood furiously. Yet, his hypnotic turquoise eyes didn’t waver from you except occasionally when he rolled them back in pure ecstasy. You shut your eyes closed, squeezing them very tight, unable to hold his gaze anymore when his hips started to sensually roll under you, the feeling of his hard length making you gasp.

“Tom… No.” You thought you had spoken with a stern tone but your voice had been nothing but a whisper that melted in a moan and, consequently, he didn’t stop. Quite the opposite, he kept rubbing against you, your hips dancing together in perfect rhythm and intensifying when he felt the warmth pooling between your legs and the small, damp spot on your sinful undergarment. It was too much for him to bear — Tommy growled, a low and primal noise that came from the depths of his soul, and his hips bucked under you. In a final scream of intense pleasure he came, stars waltzing behind the blackness of his eyelid and the mighty hands of God ripping all his suicidal thought from him just enough time to finally be at peace.

Peace, at last. He thought.

Shocked, confused and caught in the haze of the moment, you finally released your grip and freed his throat before curling up in a ball in his arms, trembling. 

“I’m fine.” He stuttered, panting, as if he had read through your concerns.

As you lay entwined on the floor, both of you breathless and tangled in each other’s arms as if your life depended on it, the silence of the room grew thick with unspoken desire and barely bridled resentment.

Would life be easier if you’d give in for good? Would he be the one, strong and steady, guiding you and protecting you? Could he be the one able to finally heal that open wound your attachment to Amos was?

No.

Tommy could never be your solace.

You would never let him.

You’d never do this to Arthur. Never.

Your hand tenderly reached his face. They lingered on his perfectly carved jaw to trace faint lines across his skin as though you were discovering him for the very first time. Had he always been so pretty? The soft caress of your fingers almost made him purr, but he was still panting too much to say something more judging by how his chest rapidly fell with each shallow breath. Only after a few minutes Tommy looked up at you, the eyes that once stared at you with disgust and burning rage now softened – though the remnant of something dark and fierce burnt inside his black pupils. 

He finally broke the silence with a voice both rough and tender, “You feel it ay? The weight of it. The weight of us.” It wasn’t a question for he knew he was right, no matter how hard you would deny it. He pulled you closer to make your embrace even more intimate until your nose nuzzled in the crook of his neck — his perfume soothing you, lulling you.

'Cause your hands maybe strong but the feelings are all wrong, Your heart is as black as night.

“Tommy. This has to stop.” You said slowly, fingers still caressing his face with sheer tenderness, “You have to let it go.”  Fighting against the torpor the sweet comfort of his arms brought you, you raised your head to plunge your gaze into his.  In response, Tommy let out a sigh and one of his hands found yours, intertwining your fingers together.

“You think he loves you the way I could?” His other hand moved to your face to tilt your chin towards him, keeping you from fleeing his vulture eyes which were filled with longing he didn’t bother to hide anymore, “I’m not letting you go.” 

Your heart pounded painfully in your chest at the thought that Tommy would never stop haunting you. 

He was talking exactly like Amos. Using the exact same words and sickly-sweet tone.

“Don’t say dumb shit like this.” You retorted, the warmth you had granted him with turning to freezing arctic ice again. With that being said, you gathered all your remaining strength to overcame the comforting haze he instilled in you, and managed to snatch yourself from his arms. You needed to leave this fucking room now. Surprised, Tommy tried to hold you, to keep you from leaving him but you had been too quick. Defeated, the gangster hauled himself with his forearms against the carpet and frowned.

“You know we’re meant to be.”

“And what are we meant to be Thomas?” You sneered, glaring at him from above your bony shoulder, “Can you tell me?!”

Your heart is as black… As mine.

“Each other’s death.”

Taglist: @adaydreamaway08 @theshelbyclan @esposadomd @woofgocows @anathemasworld @anastasia0082 @kate654 @kxnnxy @babayaga67 @meowtastic @shelbyssins @sarai-ibn-la-ahad @bluevenus19 @kishie8 @zablife @alexandra-001 @alexizodd @helen06dreamer @kmc1989 @peakyswritings @peakyltd @chaosinkest1996@vanhelsingsbigtoe @cherubswhispers @lokigirlszendaya @justrainandcoffee @mischievouslittlecreature @jjovin3221 @randomcreator-09 @weepingdreammarvel @meadowshelby

[prettybillycore]

"For Tommy" Series Masterlist

UPDATED: 5/14/24

Pairing(s): Thomas Shelby x Original Character

Universe: Peaky Blinders

Summary: Veela and Seer- a powerful combination of traits for one person to have. Edith Lillian Scamander falls in love with a young Thomas Shelby while working in a nurse’s ward during WWI. Will her feelings be requited, or will she be doomed to pine over the man of her dreams for eternity hopelessly?

Rating: Teen ✦ prologue | Your sister, Edith Lillian ✦ letter #1 | Yours, Thomas Shelby ✦ ONE ✦ letter #2 | All My Love, Lilli Scamander ✦ letter #3 | Sincerely, Your Peaky Blinder ✦ TWO ✦ letter #4 | Farewell, Edith Lillian ✦ letter #5 | Much Love and Hope, Edith Lillian ✦ THREE ✦ letter #6 | All My Love, Thomas Shelby ✦ letter #7 | Tread lightly, Newt

Read it on AO3 //

[starlight045]

The Price of Revenge

| Chapter One |

| Luca Changretta X OC!

| Summarry: When Luca Changretta comes seeking revenge in the form of a Vendetta out for the Shelby family Elizabeth Shelby is forced to pick between two options. She can marry the man who has killed her brother or refuse and let the bloodshed continue. People get hurt, secrets are revealed and Elizabeth makes the unlikely decision. (This is set in 1925 during season 4 of the show Peaky Blinders.)

| I hope you guys like this story! And perusual feedback is encouraged. :)

Chapter One

1925, Birmingham, England

The rain came down steadily on the cobblestone streets in Birmingham. Luca Changretta stood in his hotel room looking out the window when Matteo came in. His sleeves were rolled up and his top buttons were undone.

“Luca,” Matteo said, taking his hat off. Luca stayed facing the window, turning his head over his shoulder to look at the man. He had his toothpick hanging out of his mouth.

“Matteo…dimmi.” he said, turning to look at him. Both Matteo and him had been close. Friends since infancy practically. Now they work together. Matteo helped him but sometimes Luca would lose his temper.

“John Shelby è morto. Abbiamo colpito Michael Grey ma pensiamo che sia sopravvissuto.” Luca nodded his head and walked up to the shorter Italian.

“Sì…sì, è grandioso. Perché quel fottuto Michael Grey è ancora vivo?” He asked, gritting his teeth.

“Someone managed to get him to the hospital on time I guess. I believe it was John’s wife.”

Luca shook his head and sighed.

“You can go Matteo.

____________________________________________________________

Angel Changretta who was Luca’s oldest brother and the eldest son of Vicente and Audrey Changretta was killed a year ago. It all started a year ago or so when the Shelby family found out Angel was the love interest of Lizzie Stark. So after Angel’s restaurant is burnt down Vicente goes to confront Arthur and John. But when both brothers threaten Angel the problem is made worse.

Vicente threatens the Shelby brothers and John gets into a fight with Angel beating him up and slashing his eyes. As a form of revenge, Vicente calls a hitman to kill Thomas Shelby but they end up killing his wife instead by mistake and later that week Angel is killed. This isn’t where the story ends as Vicente is ordered to be assassinated along with his wife Audrey but Audrey is spared and Arthur had shot Vicente.

With both his father and oldest brother dead Luca Changretta came from New York seeking revenge. The Changrettas were a family that belonged to a Mafia that dealt with liquor in New York. Luca was determined to avenge both his brother and father.

The Shelby family had all received black hands in their mail and were terrified. Everyone except for Elizabeth Shelby, the third oldest Shelby sibling.

When she received a call in her small neighborhood away from small heath she was surprised to hear the news. She came on the next train bags in hand as her family ushered her inside. “What’s going on? I got the call.” She asked setting her stuff down as Tommy and the whole family stood in the room together.

“Luca Changretta’s father and brother were killed by John and Arthur. Now he’s here from New York seeking revenge. It’s called a vendetta.” *He said, handing Elizabeth the card they all received.* __________________________________ And now here they were with John dead and Micheal in the hospital. Elizabeth hated staying in small heath; she promised herself she would never come back. She always hated what her brothers had been doing too. The killing, the illegal things, the never-ending wars.

But yet here she was and her younger brother was dead. He was killed by the men hired by an old flame. But her family didn’t know and she didn’t dare tell them.

Besides, it shouldn’t have mattered much. It happened when they were teenagers and Luca was just staying for a month as his father needed to clean up business.

He was different back then. Young, carefree, sweet, and caring. He was a doll. But now all Elizabeth heard was about how he had killed people or what he was doing in New York and that he had aged and grown cold. She knew a different Luca Changretta. And he knew a different Elizabeth Shelby.

____

The night was late and Polly Gray walked into a club wearing her red dress and fur shoulder wrap. She went to sit at the bar ordering champagne. As she sat a grey fedora was slowly placed next to her on the table.

The man’s tattoos were peaking out from under his sleeve, a black hand on his upper wrist, and a small cross on his middle finger. He stood letting the barman pour him a drink before sitting down next to her.

“This, is public enough, no?” he asked before taking a sip of the whiskey.

“yes.”

“So?” Luca asked in return.

“The boy in the hospital is out of bounds. And I’ll ask you to spare Finn and Arthur.” Polly said.

“In return for what?”

“Tommy Shelby.”

“And why should I trust you?” Luca asked before turning to look at Polly.

“Because you know our history. You know what happened between us.”

“You have an unlikely Cassius,” he said before drinking again. “You know…my mother. My mother knew your mother. She taught her how to read.” Luca said.

“Did she tell you that John and Arthur spared her life? When Tommy wanted her dead.” Polly asked not looking him in the eyes.

“Yeah and now she’s giving me the information about you people. So Tommy Shelby was right. his ruthlessness was justified. You should have killed her when you had the chance.” Luca told her.

“John was a good boy. Arthur tries. Tommy’s different. You take Tommy spare the rest.” Polly asked the man not once looking at him.

“But…What if it isn’t Tommy Shelby I want.” Luca asked which made Polly stop putting her dink down. “Years ago…I met this wonderful breathtaking girl. She was beautiful. Very polite in her mannerisms and all. I thought we’d get married one day.” Polly froze. He could only be talking about one person. “That is what I want. I want her.”

“Elizabeth is not a part of the deal.”

“Well, she is now. I marry her, we can end it.” Luca said as Polly sat there in disbelief not knowing what to do in this situation.

Polly didn’t look at Luca. She kept her eyes trained on anything but him.

“You know my mother used to say this about you. She said that ‘Polly Gray’ that child could never let go of a grievance.” Luca started making Polly look at him. “And she loves to dance. What do you say hm? Wanna dance?” Luca asked.

“I don’t dance, anymore,” Polly said as she stood up and pulled her fur shoulder wrap over her body before leaving.

“Yeah, that’s a shame. Cause you’re dancing with me.” Luca said as she walked off finishing his drink.

And Polly with this new news went to go tell Tommy that night. both she and him agreed that they wouldn’t settle with Luca’s new terms. There was no way they could marry off Liza who had never even picked up a gun in her life. It would kill her being married to an Italian mob boss.

A Week Later

It was a cold morning and tired of being cooped up in Small Health Elizabeth dressed up and went out. She was quite the painter and always had been. So as soon as she split from the chaos that was the peaky blinders she sold her art in upper Birmingham and even made it to a museum or two. She had planned on doing a few landscape portraits but couldn’t find the right tools at any of the nearby shops or vendors. So despite Tommy’s orders and wishes she went out in the outer parts of Birmingham and looked for what she needed.

It was at the fifth store of the day when she was looking at the different shades of blue when she felt the presence of someone standing behind her. Not thinking much of it she didn’t pay attention until it spoke up.

“That’s a nice shade.” He said and Elizabeth froze where she was at.

There was no way. It couldn’t be him. How did he find her if it was? Turning around Elizabeth’s suspicions were confirmed. It was Luca Changretta with his toothpick leaning against another shelf.

“Oh don’t tell me you don’t recognize me.” He smirked, taking his toothpick out and twisting it in his fingers.

Everyone was right. He did look older. He had a scar or two on his face and his eyes held more to them. As if he had seen the world and horrible things.

And of course, he was way taller and wore fine leather shoes along with tailored suits.

“Luca,” Elizabeth said softly.

“Elizabeth.” He said with a smirk.

“Are you here to kill me?” Elizabeth asked nervously.

“Because if you are just…just do it now.”

Luca just continued to smirk and he shook his head.

“No dolce I’m not here to kill you. Why would I do that?”

“Well because you killed my brother! You sent a black hand to my whole family except for me.”

“There’s a good reason for that Dolce. Besides it’s called a vendetta your brothers killed my brother and father.” And at that word, Elizabeth made a face.

“I just want to talk. Simple as that.” Luca shrugged putting his toothpick back between his lips.

“Fine,” Elizabeth muttered before going to buy her paints but Luca stopped her trying to buy them for her. “I can buy my own. I do make money Luca.”

“Let me be a gentleman, Liza,” he said putting the money down as Elizabeth rolled her eyes.

After the pair walked out Elizabeth was immediately met with the sight of Luca’s black Rolls Royce his men standing next to the car their pistols on their carriers.

Luca nodded to them before putting his hand on the small of Elizabeth’s back and walking down the street with him. She immediately swatted his hand away

With a spark of fear ready to ignite in her chest, she looked up at the tall mobster. “So Luca…if you’re not going to kill me. What the fuck do you want?”

“I met with your aunt, last night. She offered me a promising deal. To spare two of your brothers. and your cousin, for your brother Tommy.” Elizabeth’s head immediately snapped up to him her jaw dropped.

“Polly wouldn’t do that,” she said as Luca huffed out a laugh. “I didn’t think so either. She said uh, their history is why she’s doing it.” And Elizabeth thought about the story Ada had told her recently. how everyone was almost hung at the noose and Tommy saved them in the nick of time. Ironically it was also his fault.

“But I told her, Tommy isn’t the one I want,” Luca said looking down at Elizabeth. and Elizabeth felt the spark in her chest. Maybe he was there to kill her. Maybe he also grew into a liar. He was a mob boss now.

“I offered a deal. Marriage or vendetta?” which made her stop walking and Luca turned to look at her.

“You want to marry me.”

“I need a wife. I’ve got everything but one. Besides I liked what we had when we were young. I missed you.”

“Why would I marry you? You killed my brother. Almost killed my cousin. And you think things should be like when we were kids?” Elizabeth said getting bothered and upset.

“Hey, hey, hey,” Luca said gently grabbing her arm not wanting to draw attention.

“Get off of me,” she said yanking her arm off.

“I think you’d marry me, to stop this whole Vendetta. My mother told me about you now Elizabeth Shelby. You hate what your brothers do. You’ve never touched a gun. You hate your brothers for being like this. I hear you’re a great artist too. You already lost John. What about Arthur? or Finn? I know you’re close with Micheal at least. Wouldn’t be hard to kill that one. OR what about Ada hm? Your little sister.” Luca said as Elizabeth’s hands shook in fear and her eyes became wet.

Sure she wasn’t as bothered by Luca. But he unsettled her to her core. She knew she was no longer dealing with the sweet boy she once knew. She was now dealing with a grown man she didn’t know with the same eyes. They were essentially strangers. But strangers with memories.

“You choose, Liza. Vendetta…or marriage?” Luca told her. “You let me know soon amore,” he said pointing to her before Elizabeth turned around and walked away her legs wobbly. She couldn’t believe what had just happened.

____________________________________________________

[mothhball]

MORE LOVE TO OCS!!! OC SUPREMACY!!!

A little gift from me <3

feat. Lucy ( @mischievouslittlecreature ), Evie ( @novashelby ), Irene ( @zablife ), Emelia ( @cillmequick ), Lydia ( @wonderlanddreamer ) and Minette!

I hope I did them justice (at least a little bit lol)